


Waking Up in the Still Air

by hisfoolishgirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, BAMF John, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Other, Platonic Life Partners, Post-Canon, Straight John, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-09 06:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13476147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisfoolishgirl/pseuds/hisfoolishgirl
Summary: Sherlock Holmes found his fist tightening before he could stop it as he recalled the last time he’d met with his sister. He didn’t need to look around to know that he’d suddenly woken up standing in Bart’s. He didn’t need to look down to know that the hand that wasn’t tightening up into a fist was holding a phone he hadn’t seen recently for many, many reasons - and the advancement of technology bore little relevance on that particular list of reasons. He didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that the wrinkles around his eyes were gone.He was staring at John Watson, and, although his manner had always screamed Military, the cane at his side and tan below the wrist screamed that it was far more current then it had been after Rosie’s birth - after Eurus’s little escapade. That was all he needed to see to know that whatever present his sister had thought to give him had been one perhaps even more rambunctious then the Stradivarius...





	1. A Study in Time and Space - or a Floundering in it

Sherlock stood across from Eurus with his violin in his hand. It was the only way she spoke to him. It was the only way to play as she wished - as was safe for her to wish. He’d wondered sometimes, after he had found out the truth, what life would have been like if he’d figured out her game right away. If he’d been smart enough back then to save Trevor. He had also wondered occasionally what it would have been like if he’d really been the youngest - if his family had been exactly like what he’d thought they’d been.

He pulled his bow away from his strings, and he simply listened to Eurus. He loved her. She was what he’d feared of becoming, in his nightmares after the fall. He could not refuse her, and as her eyes continued to stare into his found himself wondering about what would have been if she’d been the one to be tamed by Watson.

She pulled her bow away from her violin, and they simply stared at each other, lost in thoughts that the other was unaware of, “I’ll have a present for you,” She whispered.

“I don’t need a present,” Sherlock’s voice was an unintentional mirror of his sister’s.

She smiled, “You need this one, brother dear.”

“I don’t think I do.”

Her smile vanished, “It’s a present. Do we ever need those?”

His voice stilled for a moment as he thought the he answered, “I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. Shall we learn together then?”

* * *

 

Sherlock Holmes found his fist tightening before he could stop it as he recalled the last time he’d met with his sister. He didn’t need to look around to know that he’d suddenly woken up standing in Bart’s. He didn’t need to look down to know that the hand that wasn’t tightening up into a fist was holding a phone he hadn’t seen recently for many, many reasons - and the advancement of technology bore little relevance on that particular list of reasons. He didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that the wrinkles around his eyes were gone. 

He was staring at John Watson, and, although his manner had always screamed Military, the cane at his side and tan below the wrist screamed that it was far more current then it had been after Rosie’s birth - after Eurus’s little escapade. That was all he needed to see to know that whatever present his sister had thought to give him had been one perhaps even more rambunctious then the Stradivarius, and would be to all parties involved in his life, he was sure, about as appreciated as Mycroft’s gift of Moriarty to her.

All the same, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” trailed out softly from his lips. Of course he already knew the answer, but he’d never be able to forget the first time he’d properly met the good doctor - not after he’d burnt it into his memory palace after the Fall. It had kept him sane through many a hard night - or torture that had run long. He knew the text message he’d have to send, but he didn’t. He simply stared at the younger man with a hope that perhaps -

“I’m sorry?” John asked with a furrowed brow. 

\- John too had been affected by whatever it was that Eurus had done. Sherlock smiled softly, and his attention drifted to the device in his hands. No lock. It was too old for that. There would be no saved fingerprint of his own on John’s device. It was an odd thing to think about, but here he was thinking about that anyways. He slide the screen up, and he stared at the phone as he realized something. Detective Lestrade’s number hadn’t been the priority in his memory palace.

Send it to his own number then. Dr. Watson wouldn’t know, not til perhaps later that night when he would decide to search him up. It would buy time, and if their dinner conversations over the years had told him anything  - it was the saved message to the outbox that had lead to John doing exactly that, looking him up.

He’d been getting ready to take Rosie out for play date before he’d ‘woken up’. A slight tremble shook his hand as he hit send. He handed the phone back to Dr. Watson. 

_ Not John. Not John the man that he knew as well as the back of his hand that John might as well have been the back of his hand. _

“Which was it? Your deployment?” Sherlock asked, “Was it Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John took a step back, adjusting his cane. Sherlock glanced at it, and then John was adjusting it even more now that it seemed to be the focal point of the room and their conversation.

“I don’t think the cane-” John started.

“Oh don’t be dull,” Sherlock moaned. He’d never really outgrown using his body as much as tone, and both were being well implemented in this moment. Everything was different, and that made it so much easier to fall into old habits. “It has nothing to do with the cane. It’s your posture - and your haircut. They both scream military - and you stated that this lab was a bit ‘different from your day’. Military doctor then it is. Just this morning I was telling Mike that I must be a hard man to find a flatmate for - and here he’s brought you in this evening. He’s clearly thought he’s found someone might be able to do exactly that. So then - deployed to a place with active armed combat. Add in the tan line at the wrist, not above it, and that limits our choices for where you’ve been. Since it’s only been since this morning it also means that you’re living in London and - most likely - just happened upon each other. Can’t afford London on an Army Pension - but couldn’t bare to be anywhere else. I’m sure your therapist has a hay day with that - and I know about that because you forgot about the cane once you’d gotten comfortable standing in the room. Only remembered it once I’d apparently seemed to use it as way to label you - after all a young man like yourself using a cane? Clearly a disabled vet - Really, John, you must stop being so dull. There are so many ways for that to have happened it - it had to have been more than the cane to have told me your professional history.”

“But yet it’s told you my name and that I have a therapist?” He asked with a slightly raised eyebrow.

_ Crap. _

“Yes. Clearly. You have a psychosomatic limp. Of course you have a therapist.”

“That doesn’t explain how you-” His eyes shot over to Mike, “Did you tell him about me?”

Mike was visibly pale, and Sherlock cursed at himself again for slipping up like he had falling into old habits like he had, “Not a word.” Mike whispered. 

He moved to grab his coat, he’d need it to make a dash for the door.

John’s gaze sharpened onto Sherlock, “Who are you?”

“A man looking for a flatmate,” He answered with a flourish as he pulled his coat on and pranced over to the door, no other word for it as his body language was trying to make up for not distracting from his word choice earlier, “I’ve found a place at 221b Baker’s St. If you’d like we could meet there at 7 tomorrow. I think, you’ll find it affordable on an army pension - the landlady owes me a favour,” His hand was on the door handle, and he looked back at John who was growing rather red in the face, “Sherlock Holmes,” He finally answered, and he answered it softly, “Name is Sherlock Holmes, Doctor, and again the address is 221b Baker’s St.”

“And 7 o’clock in the evening, was it?” He asked with a clipped tone, “Is that just it? You know everything about me and I nothing about you? Just moving in together like that are we?”

Sherlock stared at John, examining his face for the secret answer hidden within it to find the way to turn it unred, and there must have been something in his own that managed to do that even though he hadn’t found it yet, “Website,” Sherlock answered, “You can look me up, I suppose. It’s amazing what you can do with the internet these days, isn’t it?” Then he cleared his throat and smiled. The whiplash caused by that was clear by the expression on his audience’s face, “Now, pardon me gentlemen,” He glanced back over at Mike, “I do believe that I’ve left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

And with that he was gone. At least from their sight, he lingered outside the door.

“Is he always like that?” John asked weakly. Sherlock took in a deep breath. He’d remembered the first time John had told him about what had happened when he’d left him behind that very first time.

“Yeah,” Mike answered. It sounded like a whisper when it drifted through the door, but Sherlock could still hear the faint smile to it, “Not quite always like that. I don’t know how he knew your first name still that is. But, from him, I wouldn’t be surprised that he’d managed that.”

And then, Sherlock let his legs lead him away. He really didn’t want to be standing outside the door when the two had realized that they’d properly finished their business.

He saw Molly coming around the corner then, and their eyes met, “Hey, Sherlock,” She spoke up, it was rushed. There must have been something in his eyes with her as well to have caused a flustered reaction, “I had been heading up here - I mean - that is to say - I had been wondering if you’d wanted any coffee?”

He could still feel the wood under his fingertips at night. He still dreamed of begging her to say words he’d never found to echo back. He always watched her play with Rosie. His eyes then had always lingered. She’d always be a puzzle to him in ways that Irene never could be.

But he was still Sherlock. That had never changed, for as little as that statement might mean, “I can’t, Molly.”

“I’m sorry?” She asked. The tiny frown on her face, the way her eyes started to glisten as he’d clearly violated the protection that discretion had meant to provide her with, “I don’t-”

“I consider myself married to my work.” He added, “You matter to me, Molly, but I can’t-” He cut himself of as her eyebrows started to furrow together, confusion cutting away the pain, “I’m sorry - Did I misread your attention?”

“No,” She answered quickly, still frowning, “Are you sure your Sherlock Holmes though?” She asked with a smile, “‘Cause normally he’s a git- Oh. Oh! That was so rude of me-”

“Oh no,” He whispered. His hand already waving it aside as his laughter risked waving his words away, “You’re right. Normally I am such a git.”

She smiled, but it was an uncomfortable sort of a smile, “Sherlock?” She choked out, “You’re scaring me.”

He looked up, and he wiped the tears from his eyes as he sighed with a slight smile, “Don’t worry, Molly. You’re not the only one. Just,” He let out a breath, and he stopped for a moment before meeting Molly’s eyes, “Will you promise me something, Miss. Molly Hooper?” He asked softly.

She frowned, in a way John would have found rather adorable Sherlock was sure, but she nodded and that was all  _ he _ cared about.

“Be careful. There’s an east wind blowing through London, and I’m not sure what it wants to have done.”

“You mean like, in its wake, don’t you?” Molly asked, “I mean, it’s a wind the way that puts it. A wind can’t want something can it?”

“East winds, Molly, can do impossible things. So promise me, you’ll take care?”

Molly nodded, but she didn’t speak. Sherlock nodded, and he took it for what it was worth before sliding away.

After all, he had left his riding crop in the mortuary, and he couldn’t just stand there staring. As must as he might have wanted to. The years, and the weights he had been the one to give, had done her few favors. Her shoulders were so much higher, so much lighter.

John’s eyes had been soft. Jaded slightly, he’d never been as soft as a teddy bear after all, but Sherlock had forgotten the wonder that they’d held once - before he’d forced his friend to view the world as a widower that was.

He wiped at his eyes again. This time the tears weren’t from a humor at his situation.

* * *

 

Perhaps Sherlock shouldn’t have been surprised that Mycroft was standing in his living room, but he’d gotten accustomed to leaving the door knocker straight after Eurus. Perhaps he shouldn’t have - foreknowledge to any of Mycroft’s sudden arrivals should be taken as valuable considering they often included a conscription to job he’d wanted done or at least some such like that.

After Eurus, it had seemed so petty a way to irritate his brother.

No matter. He was surprised, and he was standing in his doorway not even trying to hide it. He’d have managed to upstage his brother with deceit before of course, but he had been surprised and there was no way of hiding that.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at it, “You did your petty little thing with the door knocker as always, brother dear, surly it isn’t that much of a surprise to see me standing in here?”

Sherlock smirked at that, “It was just that it seemed that you have managed to actually lose weight for once, but now that I’m done staring I do believe I was wrong about that after all.” His smile drifting to a frown, “Now, what do you want, Mycroft? Don’t you have a government to run after all?”

The man that his brother had been was hardly the first that he’d blatantly tell the truth of the moment to. He was his arch enemy after all, and that was foremost because he couldn’t be trusted. Mycroft Holmes would do whatever it was that he put his mind to, and at the moment it was protecting Britain. He knew his brother too well, and he knew that knowing the future would be an asset that Mycroft would consider traitorous if unutilized. He let a shiver turn into a darted gaze as he realized that unstudied might also be an aspect that Mycroft wouldn’t consider off the board.

Mycroft simply smirked, “This is childish, Sherlock-”

“Oh. Are Mummy and Daddy in town then? Are you trying to pawn them off on me?”

Mycroft frowned, “No. They are not. And, last I heard from them, not a trip they plan on making any time soon.”

“Well, we can only keep hoping that that’s so, can’t we?”

“Sherlock-” Impulse control had to be a muscle because Sherlock cut him off before he could reconsider the action.

“You know, I could have sworn I’d felt an east wind blow on my back on the way back here from Bart’s.” He didn’t look away from the baffled expression on Mycroft.

“What? What are you going on about?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He just watched.

Mycroft looked away first, “I’m here because I have a job to offer you.”

“Then you know what I’m going to say. Go away.”

“You know we belong on the same side- This is simply a childish feud!”

“This is because you’ve been stalking me again, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked before finally flopping onto his coach. He’d missed this old thing. He presumed he did. Really his flat seemed to change on it’s own sometimes. 

Except the chairs. The chairs by the fireplace always held the same spot. 

“I have someone coming by tomorrow to look at flat sharing with me-”

“And is that why you texted yourself inside of the Detective?” Mycroft frowned, “He called me. I checked up on you then. You’ve been rather bored lately, but texting yourself? That makes little sense even to me.”

Sherlock had always found it interesting that his eldest brother could manage looking interested in something whenever he looked at the tip of his umbrella. He sighed, “Does the East Wind mean absolutely anything to you at all?” He asked softly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed, “It’s just a story from when we were young. Why do you keep mentioning it?”

“No reason,” He asked before letting his gaze drift off towards the ceiling. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell if his brother was acting or if he was telling the truth. 

He let out a sigh when he realized that asking about Redbeard might be pushing it if he had been acting. He glanced over at Mycroft, “Get out.”

“I already forwarded the information for you.”

“I’m not high!  _ Get out _ .”

Mycroft left because he’d never admit defeat.

* * *

 

Sherlock wasn’t sure if John would still show up, but he found that the truly unexpected one was Mrs. Hudson. She was staring at him as he sat in the chair next to his fireplace. He’d eventually have to look up and acknowledge her staring.

But he was waiting for just the right moment.

She cleared her throat.

He looked up then. If there had been a right moment, then it had passed without his notice.

“Sherlock,” She said tightly.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson.” He said with a slight smile before turning back to the paper in his hands. It had been years after all. It was a miracle he knew the date - or at least the year anyways. He knew yesterday’s date and that made knowing the current date easier.

“Young man,” Mrs. Hudson chided, “What have you done with Sherlock Holmes?”

He looked up at that and raised a single eyebrow in unspoken question.

“You solved a case yesterday,” She provided, “That means screaming today about being bored. But you’re not. So - What have you done to my Sherlock?”

“I have an interested party coming by tonight with an interest in taking the other room,” He answered even though he knew it would be a miracle if she took it as that.

Apparently, if the pleasant surprise on her face was anything to go by, it might have been exactly that, “Oh.” She started to beam, outshining the sun and making him wince in the same way you might while looking at the sun, “I’ll just go dust up that little thing then and stay out of your way. Sure he’ll be needing it?”

“Flatshare,” Sherlock answered before looking back at the paper, “He’s just coming here to find a rent he can afford.”

“No worries,” Mrs. Hudson’s whispered, “Mrs. Turner’s got married once-”

“Any tea, Mrs. Hudson? Or, oh, I believe you just said you were going to dust, didn’t you?”

She frowned, “This isn’t over yet, young man. You won’t be able to able to keep it hidden if he moves in. The walls are paper thin, dear.”

Sherlock smirked. They’d never been like that. He looked up at Mrs. Hudson then, and her eyes locked onto his with a slight fluster, “Mrs. Hudson,” He whispered, “Don’t worry. We won’t be disturbing your sleep.”

She frowned, “I can stay-”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and he put her on at least partial mute, and he might have, shortly after that, heard her mumble about his manners.

* * *

 

He stood in his mind palace. His fingers were steepled, and he ignored the aged Watson sitting in his chair beside him as he stared into the fireplace he kept, “Sherlock.” He chided.

“Dr. Watson,” He answered back, “Looks like we know each other’s names.”

“And you don’t know if Mycroft still knows Eurus’ or not.”

“Don’t know if there is name to know.”

“Or a name not to know,” John helpfully provided to earn a glare, “We don’t know if there is anything different. We don’t even know if it was time travel, or if she’s drugged up so much that you only think you’re awake. We both know she’s not above trying something like that.”

“Don’t be dull, John.”

“This is time travel, Sherlock,” John hissed, “It simply isn’t done.”

* * *

 

There was a light tap on his shoulder, and Sherlock rounded to see a wide young Watson staring at him, “Mrs. Hudson brought me up here. She said not to worry - that you get like that sometimes, but I called your name a couple of times…”

“I was in my mind palace. Nothing important. If you want to take a look around the flat,” He motioned towards the rest of the flat, “Feel free.”

John straightened up, “I looked you up last night. The Science of Deduction-”

“Doctor?”

“As it happens you make no mention of figuring out names on the site.”

“And clearly I still have yet to know your last name,” Sherlock looked away from the fierce mistrust in the good doctor’s eyes. “You look like an old friend of mine,” He whispered softly, “I made a slip of the tongue. I didn’t know. I apologize for the confusion.”

“Why didn’t you just say that yesterday?”

“I am hardly the most forthcoming of people you’ll find, Doctor…?”

“Watson. But John please…”

“I’ll play the violin - to varying degrees of skill at varying times of the day - and you’ll find that I can be silent for days on end. Flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

John frowned, and Sherlock knew the look in his eyes he was about to speak or thinking about speaking anyways. He reconsidered it and looked away to start pacing about the room. Sherlock simply watched. 

John’s movements were entrancing. So stiff to accommodate the cane - both physically and emotionally. There was no cutting edge of a man that had seen and felt and lived through too much. A young man. Sherlock hadn’t given the thought much weight - the realization of what he’d done to them.

“You shouldn’t accept the flat,” Sherlock whispered.

John straightened up and he looked at Sherlock, “What was that?”

“I don’t need a flatmate. You shouldn’t move in here.”

“And why is that?”

“My bills are covered by my brother due to my work for him. I don’t need a flatmate.”

John shook his head and he stepped closer to Sherlock with a squint in his eyes, “Why shouldn’t I move in, Sherlock? Because I still a need that so tell me - Why shouldn’t I take up the offer? Unless of course you’re telling me that you’ve changed your mind that you’re not just simply giving me advise about this.”

Sherlock frowned and he looked the chairs. The one on the left, near the kitchen, had only been removed from its spot once since John moved into his life. He supposed he’d do that again. It would be painful to look at. He opened his mouth, but it was cut off with a knock on the door.

They both looked at Lestrade. Fewer wrinkles, same about of gray hair. Sherlock nodded slightly before looking away, “Another one was it?” He asked careless before words could make it out of his open mouth. John’s attention snapped to Sherlock, and it caused Sherlock to glance at him.

He looked like a bloodhound with a scent he was trailing after. It hurt. It hurt in his heart. Ironically, at this age he would have claimed that he hadn’t had one of those. He would have known that not quite to be true, but that still what he had taken to screaming at the world all the same. He pulled his gaze away, and he stared at Lestrade who was looking at him expectantly before frowning, “Sherlock? Are you alright? You’ve been acting odd since yesterday.”

Sherlock waved him to the side, “I’m find, Lestrade.” He’d been thinking about the fact that time travel shouldn’t be possible, and the last day had been spent questioning the reality of what he was in. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time his mind palace had lead him to a variation on how he’d met Watson. He very much wasn’t fine, but he strolled over to the window before glancing back at Lestrade, “I’ll follow after you. I’m not riding there in a police car,” He whispered softly.

Lestrade opened his mouth, but it was John that spoke, “And how will you do that? He hasn’t said where the crime was.”

Sherlock shrugged, and he glanced pointed at Lestrade. A flustered Lestrade who wasn’t quite done and thus accepting of Sherlock’s odd habits, “He’s figured out where I’ve been due to the mud on my shoes or something like that,” He grumbled, “Well, I’ll see you there then I suppose, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded, “Of course, Greg.” The detective’s attention snapped back to him, and Sherlock played the innocent expression card. Greg frowned, and his gaze lingered with consideration over Sherlock’s face. He said nothing though before turning away and properly leaving. There was, Sherlock supposed, a certain weight to his steps, and Sherlock found himself frustrated again with the sore thumb he was slowly becoming. “Wait - Lestrade,” Sherlock called out.

Lestrade turned back with a raised eyebrow rather a verbal answer.

“Who’s on forensics?” He asked.

“Anderson.”

“You know he doesn’t work with me.”

“Find your own forensic scientist then.” Sherlock smirked and Lestrade rolled his eyes.

“So,” John’s eyes were still on the receding form of Greg’s back, “Have you taken back the offer for a flatmate then, Sherlock?”

“I’m dangerous to live around, John. Do you want to come with me to find that out?”

Sherlock felt a tremor of excitement as John’s bloodhound look looked like it had found its object. He looked away then he frowned. He glanced back at John, “You were a military doctor in a warzone. Use to trouble?” He asked. He was growing tired of asking questions that he’d already known the answers to.

“Yes,” Doctor Watson confirmed.

“A fair bit of trouble?”

“Too much for a lifetime.”

“Want to see some more?”

“Oh god yes.”

Sherlock grabbed his grabbed his coat on the way out of the door and slid into it with a flourish. " _Y_ _ ou’re a drama queen. _ ” Echoed through his ears and he glanced back at Doctor Watson. 

Would his friend want him to push him away for his own safety? Would Doctor John Watson, the man that beat him over failing to protect his wife, beat him once more if he tried to cut off that path before it had started?

Had Eurus’ present been giving John a chance at happiness without him?

The look in this John’s eyes, and the confounded face in his memories when John had told ‘Yes. Of course I want you to be my best man.’ 

The way the man had sobbed in his arms after coming clean about the fling he’d had, the near affair he’d had while being married to Mary. 

And, after a moment, he thought that perhaps the Doctor John Watson he’d grown up with, because without a doubt he’d grown up as an adult as much John had, might find a way back through time - even if that time no longer existed - to make it clear that Sherlock was being a bloody idiot by trying to tell him what was safe and right for him without giving him a proper choice to choose that for himself. That Sherlock was being an idiot if he thought that John was any less of an adrenaline addict then he was. That he was any less danger prone on his own.

His Doctor Watson would be the first to point out that when he’d tried to cut Sherlock out of his life he’d nearly ended up cheating on his ex-spy of a wife with Eurus - and that a statement like that needed no comment of commentary on it.

Sherlock nearly opened his open mouth to call out to Mrs. Hudson like he had the first time round, but then he remembered that he hadn’t spoken to her all day. That he’d been lost in his mind palace all day and she wasn’t making them tea. Already things were changing, and Sherlock wasn’t sure how much he liked that.

* * *

 

The cab ride started quietly, and that lead to Sherlock’s attention to drift back to the way it had played out the first time. It snapped once he heard John clear his throat. He looked over at the other man, “Your friend,” He started, “What was he like?”

“Hm?” Sherlock answered, not for a lack of understanding but out of a hope of avoiding this topic.

“The one that looks like me apparently and has the same first name. What is he like?”

Sherlock pulled his gaze away. The silence might have seemed like a decision to leave it unanswered, but he was taking time to find the right answer. He closed his eyes once he’d found it, “Was,” He answered, “The real question is what was he like.”

“Oh,” John shuffled about in his seat uncomfortably, “My condolences.”

“I’m the one that forgot,” Sherlock whispered, “I should be the one apologizing.”

“No,” John answered sharply, “I’ve made the same mistake. There’s nothing to apologize about.”

Then the cab ride continued, and finished, in silence - or nearly finished in silence, “What is it that we’re doing anyways?”

“We’re about to pull up to Lauriston Gardens and now is when you decide to ask why?” John frowned at Sherlock, and he simply rolled his eyes before properly responding, “I’m a consulting detective,” He answered, “And whenever the police are out of their depth - which is always - they consult me.” 

The lines slide out so easily to mirror the past. He didn’t know how he felt about that. He glanced over at John, and he simply saw the sharp curt military nod.

“Which case is it then? You seemed to be aware of it.”

“The serial suicides. There’s been another.”

“And now they’re consulting with you? Why?”

“Don’t know. Lestrade didn’t mention it. I’m sure we’ll find out when we get there.”

“Ah.”

“Questions?”

“Nope just. It’s all rather amazing I think.”

“What?”

“Hm?”

“That’s just. That’s not what people normally say after meeting me.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“Piss off.”

And it was with laughter, John had started that, that the cabbie had rolled them up to street that lead into the crime scene.

* * *

 

Sherlock stared at Sally, the cutting edges to her gaze as their eyes made contact. “Hello, Freak,” She called out as they neared in stilling silence, “And what brings you here?”

Sherlock glanced at John. He’d nearly forgotten about how things had been with the officers before his jump. Actually, he had. There had been too many other things going on. It was almost like his crime novel of a life had drifted to match the mundane theatrics of a drama that John had always wanted living to be like.

Still. Sherlock was fine with that. It had always been adventure after all, and John. John had always been there with him. For most of it anyways. Always in the end.

“Don’t tell me he followed you home,” Sally continued, “We can arrest him for you if he did.”

“Moving into his actually is the way it seems,” John answered with a tight smile, “Although it has yet to be seen. He might just change his mind yet. We’ll see how the evening goes.”

Sally didn’t say anything to that. Sherlock didn’t dare to look at John, instead he raised the yellow tape and motioned for John to lead the way through. John raised an eyebrow at that, and Sherlock glanced at the cane. John conceded the point at that and accepted the help.

Sally grabbed Sherlock’s arm as he tried to walk away, “What’s going on?” She hissed.

Sherlock looked at her, “A murder. And I’m going to go solve it.”

He didn’t need to mention that he already knew the name of the killer -  _ Jefferson Hope. _

He would really have to give Eurus a talk about what sorts of things were given as presents the next time he’d see her. If he’d see her again - his her that was.

Was she sitting alone in Sherrinford? He nearly missed a step up the stairs and into the house. He most certainly missed Anderson’s attempt to lecture him on crime scene etiquette. 

He glanced back and he saw John’s tight smile. There was a change in his eyes as he stared at Anderson. It almost felt like he was watching his Watson, but longing for his conductor and brother might have tinted his gaze. Because after two days of this madness - He wanted John standing beside him.

John glanced at him, and he smiled for a moment before nodding to Anderson, “Find all the things you missed then?” He said, “I think we can manage that.”

“That’s not all what I just said-”

“Yes well, if you didn’t smell like Sally I would have found it easier to listen,” John said curtly before taking to a quick brisk walk after Sherlock. Sherlock stared as the man passed him up the steps before turning back around and shoving the cane into Sherlock’s hands. He pointed at Sherlock, “I don’t know what you’ve gotten me into this time, but we’d better be waking up by the end of the case.”

Sherlock smirked as he took to steps beside John, “Eurus,” Was all he had to whisper for a groan to escape from John’s lips, “When?” He asked.

“Piss off,” John whispered, “That’s when I woke up. I remember things playing out slightly differently now too? Like overlapping maybe?”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Sherlock whispered.

“That’s rich coming from you - I’m sure it how she’s done this. Since we’re- still us-” Lestrade cleared his throat, and they both looked up at him a little wide eyed, like children caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

“We’re on a case?” Lestrade added after a moment, “There’s a murderer running about town-”

“No time to waste,” Sherlock finished with a nod, “Of course, detective. Can you give us a moment alone to look around. Everyone around here thinks too loud.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes, “And the new guy doesn’t?”

“It’s a part of my charm,” John answered without missing a beat. Lestrade simply moaned and motioned them to have at it anyways.

* * *

 

John bent beside Jennifer Wilson, not that he was suppose to know her name, and Sherlock matched his seemingly focused pose. They didn’t look down at her, “So, Sherlock, What did your sister do this time?”

“She told me she’d be giving me a present.”

“A present. She broke the time and space continu- You know what. This is your sister we’re talking about. Of course she did it. Why? Do you know why?”

“Thought it would be a good present?”

“Reliving everything?”

“A second chance perhaps?”

“Real question then is if she came back as well then. What about Rosie? Are going to stay back here? What are we going to do?”

Sherlock broke eye contact with John, and that caused the soldier to nod, “Yes, of course you don’t know any more then I do, I suppose.”

“What was happening before you ‘woke up’ here as we’ll call it?” Sherlock asked softly.

“Parked. I had just parked my car before showing up for my shift. You?”

“I was getting Rosie ready for a play date - I think Molly was still there at the time.”

“I would be worried, but we’ve bloody broken time!” John hissed, “What did you do the last time you visited her to cause her to want to give you a present!”

There was another cough from the doorway, and the Baker St Boys simply closed their eyes and took a collective breath before Sherlock took lead and walked them through the scene. Just like he had years before. This time though when it came to his revelation of a suitcase - and the color pink - he shuffled the skip hopping off to Lestrade. It would buy them time to go to Angelo’s, chase a cab, and have a proper uninterrupted conversation. Although as he told Lestrade, if he went looking for it on his own- well, then he’d have to take home to look at properly. Lestrade hadn’t been amused, but he took the threat seriously and had Anderson and Donovan put on on point in trying to find the suitcase. 

Sherlock however had frowned at that, and he quickly amended that he would be joining them. He turned to John, “Want to come with?”

John pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose, “No,” He answered tightly, “No. I’ll be taking the cane back now though.” He held his hand out, and Sherlock obliged before John could pull the metal pole to his size Sherlock grasped his hand and squeezed.

John nodded, “I’ll meet you back at Baker’s St.”

“I suppose you will,” Sherlock nodded before stepping out of the way for John to leave. He squeezed the other man’s shoulder as he passed by him. John nodded discreetly.

They both knew where he was headed, and they both knew what Mycroft would expect to see. They both knew how far John was from who he’d once been.

* * *

 

Sherlock was a few steps down the stairs before turning back to Lestrade, “I believe you were the one to mention that there was a murderer on the loose - and that there was a reason to hurry because of it?”

Lestrade pointed at the form of John, leaving through the door, “Who was that?”

“Pardon? I believe I introduced him earlier-”

“Ya didn’t,” Lestrade corrected, “But I did mean that as more specifically about who is to you anyways. Not surprised that little nuance flew over your head.”

“He’s looking for a flatshare. We just met yesterday to be completely honest.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Well, would you rather that I tell you that we’ve actually known each other for years and years - he got married, I died and came back, wife died, every one nearly died - just to travel back into time to the first case that we did in fact work together?”

“That was so elaborately stated I’d almost believe it.”

“But you don’t.”

“I don’t. Now, let's go see if you’re right about this suitcase now shall we? Maybe have you sent back to the station for a quick drug test as well while we’re at it?”

“Hardy har har, George.”

“Eh - Ya said my name earlier, ya can’t keep pretending to delete it now.”

Sherlock smiled, but he was the leading the way down the stairs. Greg couldn’t see it.

* * *

 

John didn’t look at the first phone booth that was ringing nor did he look at the second one. He knew better then to just pick up the phone and to snap at Mycroft -  _ I have a phone. I always have. Use it like the bloody idiot that you are -  _ before hanging back up on the man.

He knew better, but that didn’t make dreaming any less preferable. Instead he watched through a window as an employee reached for a phone just to have it stop a moment too soon. Then the phone box beside John started to ring, and he knew that was the time he was suppose to pick up. He could only hope the years of watching Sherlock act the fool had rubbed off onto his own skills.

“Hello?” He provided weakly.

“There is a security camera on the street to your left. Look at it,” John frowned but he looked. His frustration clear on his face as it turned away from him, “Now -One on the right.”

The Holmes brothers, John swore, hadn’t changed a bit in their regards for a flair of the dramatics. John coughed, “I’m on the phone right now. Can’t we just talk this out here and now?”

John didn’t smirk at the silence on the phone. He didn’t want to smirk. He might have, but he’d just bloody time traveled and he wasn’t having it. A black car rolled up, “I believe I’ve made it quite clear-”

“That you value discretion?” John asked, “Yes. Yes- you have. I could walk away right now, busy street this is. I’m not going to. I’m going to get into that car, but I want whoever is in charge of this to know that I think this is silly.”

He hung up the phone before he could hear a response, and he took a deep breath. He counted to ten. It was the one good thing that his therapist had advised him to do while handling Sherlock and his brother. Then he turned around he slide out of the phone box with a smile.

Anthea sat in the back of the car, and he didn’t bother trying to chat her up. Seeing her, recalling that failed attempt only brought him memories of Mary- and that reminded him that she  was still alive and out in the world now that he’d left his time in it behind.

She was alive because they hadn’t met yet, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.

He was genuinely concerned. That was the thing that Sherlock never seemed to get. Ever since Eurus had tried to kill Sherlock, Mycroft had been a concerned party. He watched as Doctor John Hamish Watson rose from the car he’d sent, and he felt his concern had cause once more. 

This was not the man he’d read about. He wasn’t even using his cane properly, holding it under the handle - like he was carrying it for someone else. He met Mycroft’s eyes, and to Mycroft’s surprise seemed to bite back a resignation. He wasn’t afraid - not because he was brave but because he’d recognized him.

That caused something to happen to Mycroft, and he knew himself well enough to know that it was his own fear, “You don’t seem very afraid for someone who has just been abducted off the street, Doctor Watson.”

“You don’t seem very frightening is all,” John countered with ease, “Unless you think there’s a reason that I should be that I don’t know of.”

Mycroft nearly lost a step but he found an answer, “No one knows where you are. Harriet most certainly doesn’t.”

“But,” John admitted even as he nodded in concession, “Sherlock does, and - if I had to bet - then he’ll know exactly who to call to figure out where - or who - has lead to my delay back to the flat.”

“That he would I suppose. Just met yesterday - and moving in, running off together to solve crimes together? Should we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?”

“Sherlock is many things, but a lover is not one of them,” John nearly snapped. He’d watched Sherlock after Sherrinford. He’d watched him try to run away from Molly and from apologizing. He’d been there for Sherlock. He’d listened, and for once he heard, even if he didn’t quite understand it. He’d been there during the apology. Sherlock wouldn’t have spoken to Molly after what he’d done to her if he’d had his way with it.

“Then what is he to you, John? If you already know that much about him?” Mycroft’s words were soft, but they still seemed to be a literal blow against the man as he flustered.

“He’s - Sherlock?” John answered softly, “He’s simply Sherlock.”

“That’s hardly an answer.”

“And you’re hardly one to get them. What does it matter to you?”

“You could say that I’m a concerned party is all.”

“And I could also say that I’m the queen of England. Doesn’t make it any more true without proof.”

“Proof? You’re demanding from me? I think it’s been said that a soldier's courage is simply another for stupid.”

“Yes,” John whispered, “I believe I have just demanded that from you.”

Mycroft’s phone buzzed. He ignored it. John’s buzzed. John looked at it, “Am I bothering you?” Mycroft asked tight lipped. John sighed and he held the phone out to Mycroft.

“It’s for you.”

Mycroft grabbed the phone with still hands. He’d gambled with the country before, little things like this could not shake him. That is what he told himself before he saw that the text was from Sherlock.

_ Rather childish, isn’t this don’t you think, Mycroft? _

“What happened yesterday?” Mycroft asked looking up at John, “And I don’t want to hear about seeing a flat together. We both know Sherlock doesn’t need to share that flat to afford that flat. So, tell me what happened-”

His phone in his hands then started to ring. He looked at the number. Sherlock. John nodded, “Don’t let me keep you,  _ Mycroft. _ ”

Mycroft frowned, but he answered Sherlock’s call, “Finding John hard to work with are we?” Sherlock nearly sung over the phone, “Have you gotten to the part where you try to bribe him yet?”

“I haven’t,” Mycroft answered with ice, “Why do you think I’d do that?”

“Because a man with the service record I’m sure he has running around London with me seems to be the best for a concerned party like yourself.” If Mycroft didn’t know better he’d say that Sherlock was being genuine and not sarcastic under those words. 

“Will you tell me what happening, Sherlock?”

“Not yet, brother.”

Mycroft hung up, and he handed his phone to John, “I am a concerned party,” He repeated under John’s gaze. The man’s eyes seemed to flicker about in a mad attempt to find an answer of some sort, “He’s my brother.” 

“I know,” John whispered once he’d seemed to find what he was looking for, “Family drives insane the quickest I think.”

Mycroft laughed at that, it was a dark bitter laugh, “Is that why you’re estranged from your sister?”

“And you yours?” John asked with a matching smirk. The words he’d chosen stalled in his head. Sherlock had -

“Pardon?” Mycroft managed not choke it up.

“Your brother that is?” John admitted, “It’s not like you have a sister your keeping hidden away? At least, not one that Sherlock knows about after all. And, perhaps there was a bit of presumption, but I don’t think if you were close to Sherlock you’d have had to kidnap his friend to make sure everything was on the up and up?”

Mycroft nodded, but he lingered over the thought that perhaps - Sherlock had known after all. When he’d tried to bait his code words back to him the day prior that was, “Anthea will take you home now. After all, that’s what Baker’s St. is to you now, isn’t it?”

“No,” John answered with a small smile, “No it’s not. Not right now, but I think it might have a chance at being that.” He nodded towards Mycroft in a sense of farewell, and Mycroft was left behind to watch the doctor leave him alone with his doubts and the still, still air.

* * *

 

“You have it right?” Sherlock asked as John entered the room. He didn’t look. He heard John’s steps. He kept his spot, stretched out on his couch with steepled fingers and closed eyes.

“Of course. I know you’re a bloody idiot,” John answered with, Sherlock was certain, a glare in his direction, “Now, do we want to talk about my kidnapping.”

“Mycroft mistreat you?”

“Might have accidently slipped up after he was done with the phone call that is. He’s aged yeah, but the amount of hair - I almost forgot.”

“What happened?” Sherlock asked with every reason to sit up and none of the motivation. He did it anyways. Active listening was something he long since conceded to ease John. At least, after Mary’s death anyways.

“I had made mention about family being the one to drive us to insanity the quickest, and then he’d asked if that was why I was estranged to Harry.”

“And then you said something like - ‘And you yours right’?” John nodded, “I wasn’t sure if she was still here,” Sherlock continued, “I made a few hinted drops yesterday. Did he give anything a way to you?”

“No, slimy bastard that he is,” Sherlock smirked. John looked over at Sherlock with a weariness he’d only seen in his eyes once before, “I don’t know if I can keep this up,” He whispered, “It’s been nearly a decade, Sherlock. Since we first met that is. Everyone changed. We changed. It was so hard talking to Mycroft...”

“Like he hadn’t already tried to take a bullet for you?” He offered softly.

“Yeah,” John whispered before stepping over to his chair, “That’s one way of putting it I suppose.”

_ It’s a family matter- _

_ That’s why he stays. _

“Like he isn’t family?” Sherlock continued.

“Yeah,” John answered leaning back and closing his eyes, “Exactly like that.”

“Lestrade asked me who you were - to me that is.”

“Oh?”

“I told him that we’d met yesterday.”

“That is the truth, isn’t it?” John commented with a smirk, “Hardly acted like it, did we?”

“I was afraid - initially that is - that I wouldn’t really be growing old again with you.”

“A real proper married old couple, aren’t we?” John commented casually.

“I tried to keep you out of Baker’s St.”

“Bastard.”

“I figured you wouldn’t approve of that.”

“But you still tried didn’t you?”  
“It did seem valuable to give you a shot at being able to grow old and happy.”

“And with Mary and Rosey, you mean?” He asked.

“That’s one way of putting it. Actually, no, that’s exactly the way to put it.”

John nodded, “I should be bothered by that, but I’m use to your bloody antics at this point.”

“Perhaps we should actually just get married,” Sherlock commented just as causally. John sat up at that, but Sherlock didn’t dare to met his eyes, “If we can’t get rid of the other - it only makes sense. A sort of way to pull each other out of -”

“Irene. In one of the conversations we’d had - She told me we were a couple.”

Sherlock’s gaze drifted over to John once he’d realized the good doctor wasn’t going to keep going on his own, “And what did you say to that?”

“That it wasn’t like that. She said she knew.” John’s cracked laugh broke through his lips, “And I didn’t listen. I didn’t try to understand her.”

“What do you mean? She was wrong -”

“No, Sherlock. I’ve been married, and I’ve had friends before. I have a sister - and we did use to get along. We’re none of those things - as long you count sex as a part of marriage that is.”

“Are you trying to tell me yes to my proposal?” Sherlock choked out. John smirked.

“No - Maybe. I was just letting my thoughts wander, Sherlock. Mary was always so accepting. Do you think - if we met again, that she’d have an affair with a married man?”

“Would you make her a single mother?”

“Do you think she’d be so tightly entangled in our cases if I didn’t live with her?” John countered.

Sherlock stared at his friend, and John finally sat up straight before bending over and clasping his hands together, “Mary always surprised me,” Was his simple answer to that, “Don’t make life choices on a gamble.”

“Why not?” Watson asked softly, “Do you think there even is a future for us to go back to?”

“I had been avoiding that thought.” He admitted.

“Being young again like this?” John continued, “Most likely means there’s nothing. No way back.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because it would have been information sent back, and we’ve made changes already.”

“No there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I don’t think it was my clinic that I parked at.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remembering a bit more. A blow to the head.”

“That sent you back-?”

“No. It was the device I then settled myself into.”

“You need to say more-”

“I don’t remember more.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, “I can guess. I can guess that I noticed you were gone. I can guess that I went to Mycroft - found his answer lacking and then suspected your sister was up to something. I remember fighting someone off, the blow to my head, and then like an idiot being concussed when I slipped into the device.”

“Why wouldn’t I have been there?”

“They told me that you’d actually died. At the hospital, and that my recollection was what was odd.”

“Then Mary-”

“She was still gone-  no one could tell me why.”

“You shouldn’t have noticed it if the timelines were changing.”

“And I shouldn’t have hallicuated my dead wife for weeks if not months after her death either,” John pointed out with resignation, “And why would Eurus have made that device anyways - and then not use it to go back in time to finish what she’d started playing with you all those years ago - if you weren’t involved in going back to change that? If she wasn’t aware of the change as well that is. And - you did just tell me that you tried to chase me away. How hard would it have been to flub up a fake suicide?”

“Not hard at all,” Sherlock choked out.

John nodded, “I’ve always been a right idiot, Sherlock. But I’m not going to leave your side. As ridiculous as that joke was,” He ran his fingers through his hair, “I think its for the best. If that’s what we told the world that what we are anyways. Us against the world as it were?”

Sherlock couldn’t find words, and John smiled, “Broken you haven’t I?” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes again, “There’s so much to think about.”

“And we still have to chase a murderer tonight,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Moriarty,” John whispered, “I thought he was behind us.”

“Well, at least, now we know why he played with us. Mycroft called him off, baited him to Sherrinford, and then he had five minutes alone with Eurus.”

“She tried having an affair with me,” John laughed, “Perhaps we can just cut off the bad boy influence in her life by having me drop by first?”

Sherlock laughed at that, and John smiled.

“It’s weird,” John said, “Being… Not where we’re supposed to be that is.”

“Is that why you’ve turned my joke serious?” Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Perhaps.”

“Anglos? Seems the candle will be appropriate this round.”

It was John’s turn to laugh, “Nope. Sorry. Not trying to cut you off from your current spouse. She can provide you with that sort of satisfaction.”

Sherlock finally felt able to breath again, “And you have your own still, I suppose.”

“Mary made me a kept man, Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn’t feel it best to mention that wedding vows weren’t typically designed for time travel. After all, he planned to keep his vow if came up for a second round. Instead he smiled, he smirked at John, and John in exchange threw the union jack pillow from behind him at Sherlock’s face.

“Well,” Sherlock said catching the pillow, “As long as neither of us have to change - then I don’t see why a marriage between us won’t work.” He threw it back John. A John who had taken to laughing and as such ended up with the solid pillow blow to his nose.

“Mycroft asked if he should expect a happy announcement by the end of the week,” He explained, “Both times.”

“Half tempts me to call him and tell him the good news now.”

“Don’t think Anthea will want to take care of him if we give him a heart attack though,” John added.

“No. I don’t suppose she would, would she? Well, we’ll wait til morning then.”

“Perhaps we should do it while repeating our break in? Wake him up to the news so there will be a proper doctor on hand should it go south.”

They were laughing as they headed out, “You text the killer while I was out, didn’t you?”

“Waited for you,” Sherlock answered. He reached out his hand, and John filled it with his device, “Nearly asked Mrs. Hudson, but figured I should wait til you showed up so we could go chase after it together again. For old time’s sake. Seems even more fitting now.”

“Oh yes. Wouldn’t have it any other way - Celebrating an engagement with a foot chase after a car. Exactly what me and Mary did.”

“Really?”

“Of course not you blasted bugger. I was busy chasing a train down on foot with you.”

“It wasn’t exactly like that.”

John shot a pointed glared over at Sherlock, and to which Sherlock glanced at John with a stubborn frown on his lips. John smirked. He knew when he’d won, or at least knew when to take something as a win. Sherlock’s silence was exactly that, “Want me to hail a taxi?” John asked.

“Doesn’t your leg need the stretching?”

“Fair enough. Walking there it is then.”

* * *

 

“Let me get a candle for you and your date,” Angelo commented.

“Fiance,” Sherlock corrected with a smirk. There was a sharp kick under the table, and he barely bit back the sound of his pain.

“Engaged, Sherlock?” Angelo clapped his hands together, “I’ll have them send a bottle of something nice over to the table then! On the house of course - as always.”

Sherlock smiled as he watched Angelo leave. He turned his gaze back over to John, who was not as amused, “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Perhaps.” Sherlock answered simply.

“Wait until we tell Lestrade.”

“He’s already threatened me with one drug test tonight.”

“At least we don’t have to worry about a drugs bust,” John grumbled picking the menu up.

“You get the -”

“Yes. But they don’t know that, and I don’t know that. I also don’t bloody care about what I have done - taste buds can change over time, Sherlock. I am going to read the menu and I’m going to order something for the both of us.”

“I don’t eat-”

“Is this really a case, Sherlock?”

Sherlock closed his mouth at that and nodded.

“Point for Watson,” John grumbled under his breath.

Sherlock’s gaze drifted back from the window towards John at that, “It’s good to have you here,” Sherlock whispered.

John stilled, and he looked up at Sherlock, “Your bloody sister.”

Sherlock smirked, “You’re the one that didn’t notice that you were close to have an affair with your therapist.”

“Your  _ bloody _ sister.” He repeated again with more emphasis.

“So you don’t think she’s done anything other then send us back?”

John shrugged, “I think she just wanted to play with you sooner. Why else would we be ‘waking up’ now? The first time we ‘met’ Moriarty as it were?”

“Why not all the way back to Trevor?”

“Could be because it’s sort of brain remapping. Can’t have a adult brain pattern in a child after all.”

“They’re still growing after all,” Sherlock whispered. John nodded.

“That’s the way I see it,” John answered. He set down the menu, “Spaghetti.” Sherlock raised his eyebrow. John moaned, “Oh - shut up.”

Sherlock smirked and his gaze went back to the window, “Do you think there’s another explanation?” John asked, “I mean, you’re the one that keeps seeing her.”

“I - I let my thoughts drift off while playing the violin to her,” He whispered, “It wouldn’t be the first time she’s guessed something from my playing.”

Sherlock didn’t need to look to know John’s posture at that. It would be like a lion stilled and ready to pounce, “And what do you think she guessed from it this time?”

“That I wish I’d found her sooner.”

“You think her present was exactly that was it?”

Sherlock nodded. He glanced over John, “Clearly she didn’t anticipate your reaction.”

“Or yours. Never made it pass that fall of yours. She had to have had to remake the device then - for me to have used it that is.”

“Or Mycroft to have-” Sherlock whispered, but then he frowned, “Then again. She was  _ your  _ therapist.”

John moaned, and their server came - with the spaghetti in hand for the both of them. Sherlock looked at her in surprise, “Angelo said it wouldn’t be right if we only feed the one of you,” The girl answered as she set her tray down on the empty table behind them. Another waiter came with the wine, and they were serviced in seconds.

John raised his fork, filled with spaghetti to Sherlock, “To a happy wedding then is it?”

Sherlock raised a glass at that, “And to a long and happy life.”

John laugh, “I wouldn’t want to jinx it like that.”

“May we live in interesting times,” Sherlock amended.

“That sounds more like us.”

“And doable,” Sherlock added.

“Already done it, still doing it,” John agreed, and then they fell into a peaceable silence as they waited for the cappy to drive by.

* * *

 

Lestrade was sitting in 221b Baker St. when Sherlock and his new flatmate returned, “Couldn’t get you on your phone,” He said.

“No one else come with you?” John asked as he peered around. He had seemed genuinely surprised by that.

“Of course not,” Lestrade frowned, “This is a personal visit.”

“Oh?” Sherlock looked so young with his surprise.

“Yes,” Lestrade confirmed, “The men at the station kept talking about how you seemed less engaged then usual - like you were running through motions. They think you’ve done it.”

“And you’re here to warn us?” John asked, straightening up at that.

“What happened to your cane?”

“Threw it in a trash can,” John answered, “If I never see that thing again it will be too soon.”

“If you could just throw it away then why did you have it around?”

“Psychosomatic limp,” He answered, “I served in Afghanistan as a surgeon. Got shot a couple of times.”

Sherlock snapped his attention to John, “But not in the leg. It was in the shoulder-”

“You always miss something, and I got a nick in the knee.”

“You never said -”

John smiled and he nodded towards Lestrade, “More pressing matters at hand then you being wrong,  _ love. _ ”

Sherlock dropped it and looked at Lestrade, who was making an strong contender for becoming a floundering fish, “You could get in trouble for warning us that we’re about to be arrested.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lestrade whispered, “It’s not gotten to be that big of a rumor at the station yet.”

“Yet,” Sherlock whispered, “You’re still telling us about it. Why?”

“Because they’re right - you’re not focused on the case. I’m rather considering that you were telling the truth earlier though.”

“Oh?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “And why is that?”

“Because if it happened to be true for anyone - it would be you,” He wasn’t impressed, or reluctant in admitting it. It was the gruff ‘of course you fucking did that’ that Sherlock was use to getting from John. He glanced at John. A John that was smirking at him, “So,” Lestrade continued, “I want you to prove it or else I’m cutting you off from consulting.”

“Fair enough, Greg,” Sherlock admitted, “You shouldn’t do any less considering the risks.”

“That maturity is nearly proof enough,” Lestrade grumbled before glancing at John, “You’re in on it too aren’t you?”

“In on it?” He asked, “Or another victim of his sister bloody awful life choices?”

“John.”

He threw his hands up into the air, “I’ll go make a cuppa then.”

Sherlock smirked, but he turned back to Lestrade, “That answer you as well?”

“Sister?”

“Perhaps. National secret.”

“Of course,” Lestrade choked out, “Well, then. You know what. Actually, I think this is a bit above and out of my paygrade.”

“Probably.”

“I’ll be leaving now.”

“You should stay for the cabbie,” John called out from the kitchen, “Murderer is gonna target and single out Sherlock now after what we’ve done.”

“And what is that? What have the two of you done?”

“Found him. Accused his rider though so he thinks he has a hand over us,” Sherlock peered out the window, “And you left your squad car out front. Perfect.” Sherlock smiled at John, “Just like old times,” He purred.

“Jesus Christ,” John grumbled, “Of course you’re bloody enjoying this.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

John held out the other cup in his hands to Lestrade, “What do you think, Detective Lestrade?”

“I think I’m going to enjoy a nice cuppa and not question that somehow Sherlock has of course managed to do the literally impossible.” He watched Sherlock with weary eyes.

“The first time we met properly,” John stated with an awkward shuffle of his feet, “I asked you what you knew about Sherlock. What you thought of him.”

“Oh? And what did I say?”

“That he was a great man, no doubt about that. But we’d have to be very lucky for him to be a good one.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, “After Sherrinford…”

John nodded, “You called him that, Lestrade. I don’t expect you to believe it, but I figured you ought to know that.”

“Been through alot then?” He asked weakly.

“That’s one way of putting it,” John whispered, “Won’t be blogging it again this time around.”

Sherlock nodded, “Fair decision consideri- No. It won’t matter, John.”

John looked up at him and knit his brows together, “And why is that- Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Any explanations for me?” Lestrade asked.

“No,” Sherlock answered, “The less you know about futures that now can, most likely admittedly, never be the better I think.”

Lestrade nodded, “I’ll agree to that, but you’ve already told me that the murderer is on his way here-” There was a buzz at the door.

“I can go,” John offered, “Dial my phone. I’ll leave it on. We’ll get his confession that way.”

Sherlock shook his head, “It’s apart of the game,” He answered, “I’ll go.”

John nodded, “Don’t try to take the bloody pill again this time will you?”

Sherlock frowned before flourishing his coat on the way, “Inconceivable.”

“Did he just-” Lestrade asked with the inability to find his voice to finish the sentence.

“Reference the Princess’ Bride?” John offered, “Yes. Yes he did. I made him watch it year every on the anniversary of our first case together.”

“And that was this case?” Lestrade commented. John nodded as he headed over to the window. He pulled back the curtain and watched as Sherlock climbed into the back of the cab.

“Bloody idiot,” John whispered, “At least that’s still the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly that. I don’t know how I’m going to track him, and I’m not the genius. I don’t remember the address.”

“And the squad car will stand out,” Lestrade grumbled.

“And he’s already gone around a corner,” John grumbled, before he pulled out his phone, “Hope Mycroft didn’t have a change of number,” He grumbled, as he quickly dialed in a number, but then John straightened up with a light in his eyes, “I’ll go see if Mrs. Hudson has a car we can borrow. Then I’ll call Mycroft.” There was a giddy tone to his voice that worried Lestrade. Until he saw the car. Then he understood. He also understood the man’s deflated hopes as Mrs. Hudson insisted that she’d be the one driving. Not some young whippersnapper that she’d just met that day. 

“Would you let Sherlock drive it then?” He had asked after that with a weak glimmer of hope.

“Of course not.” The banter kept Lestrade from noticing the bulge the back of John’s coat.

* * *

 

“And when did Sherlock provide you with this number?” Mycroft asked with a sigh.

“Sometime between you kidnapping me and his abduction you. You know how he likes to prove just how clever he is. He’ll do something dangerous. Can you tell me where he is or not?”

“You sound like a wife worried about her husband going off to war,” Mycroft commented casually. If it hadn’t been for the typing sound in the background John would have went off shouting the oldest Holmes child.

“Yes. Of course I do. Sherlock proposed right before over dinner. So I suppose that’s exactly what’s happening right now.”

“He did - He did what?”

“Where, Mycroft? Or do I need to call your mother?”

“Oh, Doctor Watson, where did Sherlock find you?” Mycroft laughed, “I’ve traced the path of the car. They’re on a closed college campus...”

* * *

 

“Mrs. Hudson,” John said as they pulled up to the campus, “I want you to wait out here. The DI has already requested backup, and they’ll need to know which building Sherlock is in.”

“Do you know which one he’s in?”

John shook his head and he glanced at Lestrade, “No,” He said, “That’s why we’re both taking one building and hoping for the best to find him. Lestrade - you should take the one on left. I’ll check the right one.”

Lestrade nodded, and he bit back his questions. Did John know which one Sherlock was in already? And if so - which one was he sending to find the detective?

* * *

 

Sherlock enjoyed the ride, and just like earlier every line sparred came back with ease. After Lestrade’s critique earlier, he even put in the effort to make it believable that they were being said for the first time.

Once they’d entered the lab however, Sherlock found himself staring at the pill in his hand. There was only so much he could retreading he could do without knowing where and what John was doing in collaboration with Lestrade. 

It had been a bullet before that had saved his life, kept him from proving that he was clever after all. He looked up through the window, and he saw John staring at him with crossed arms. He pointed to side, and Sherlock glanced over. He saw a door. 

_ Lestrade. _

Sherlock slowly set the pill down, and he stared at Mr. Hope, “I’m afraid my associate has bested the both of us. Now, tell me. Who hired you?”

Hope took the pill, still at his lips, and swallowed it, “This isn’t like The Princess’ Bride, Mr. Holmes. He said that my life wouldn’t be worth living if I failed with you.”

That was when time froze in his vein’s - something new. There were still new things to learn, “What do you mean?” Sherlock hissed as he reached out to grab the man by his collar. He could smell the compound on his lips.

“Do you really think I did this with everyone?” He asked, “You really are a right idiot.”

And then, Jefferson Hope was gone to somewhere that Sherlock with all his questions couldn’t follow. He let go of the man.

* * *

 

Sherlock hated the color orange, “Shock?” He grumbled with a glance up at Lestrade, “They’ve given me a shock blanket.”

“Well someone has just tried to kill you, and unless you want to explain that you’re actually a time traveller - then I think it’s for the best that you leave the blanket on your shoulders.”

Sherlock frowned, but he’d learned the hard way that Lestrade was not the sort of man that deserved to be completely ignored. He said nothing. He looked over at John, standing where he had all those years ago, but this time he was standing inside of the yellow tape and actively talking to Sally, “He has to give a statement,” Lestrade commented, “Since he’s the one that got us here.”

“How did he do that?”

“Called someone - called Mycroft?”

“My brother,” Sherlock commented, “He called my brother?”

Lestrade nodded, “And Mrs. Hudson drove. She’s not here now. John insisted that we interview her first so she could get home for the evening. Said the two of you would be getting Chinese first. Not to wait up for you. That sort of a thing.”

Sherlock nodded, “Did you know you can tell how good a chinese restaurant can be by turning the bottom third of the door handle?” He looked up at Lestrade and saw the esperated look on the man’s face.

He realized then why he’d asked. In the time he’d gotten use to the admittedly much younger John, he’d realized how much John had looked up to him. He looked away from Lestrade, “It isn’t true anyway - I mean, it is. But only in a sense. It’s really a better tell for if it’s a money laundering set up. Which is then a factor which indicates the quality of the food inside.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade grumbled, “I’ve busted too many of those by simply eating at them too frequently.” Sherlock smiled. His face full of crinkles as he looked at Lestrade with his amusement. Lestrade visibly floundered at that, “Well If I hadn’t believed you’re story before. I do now,” He whispered. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Go - take John. Get a good night’s rest after all of this. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about with your fiance.”

Sherlock nodded as he rose at that, “Of course.”

“It’s not actually like that between you two is it?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock looked at him, and the detective looked as flustered as he had floundered.

Sherlock smiled, but it was in the worn way he had grown too use to, “Of course not. We’re just - taking ourselves off of the board.”

Lestrade nodded, “I can’t even imagine the sorts of trouble you two managed to get into if this is how in step you’ve gotten. Able to catch a murderer with absolutely no communication over already knowing the how of the scenario.”

Sherlock conceded the point. A point at a door and a call to a brother to cover their mutual misstep aside, it had been exactly as the detective had put it, and it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing they’d have been able to manage before. Not before, well, everything.

“Have a good evening then, Greg,” Sherlock whispered with a nod before crumpling up the shock blanket and tossing it into the back of the ambulance. Lestrade watched him walk off in silence.

John glanced over at Sherlock, and he smiled. He winked at Sally, “Fiance now,” He told her, “Engaged over dinner.”

Sally stared at him unamused, “If he murderers you in your sleep-” She started then she looked at Sherlock, “Or he you I suppose. Don’t say I didn’t tell you. Bloody wankers.” Sherlock couldn’t see it, but she nodded at a figured past Sherlock’s shoulder and presumed Lestrade had beckoned that she come over as she passed him.

“So. Two pills I hear,” John somehow started with a same straight face he had all those years ago, “Blood awful that.”

“You called Mycroft.” He said softly.

John winced, “I hadn’t really thought of a different choice. I mean, I had thought about tracing your phone like we had Wilson’s all those years ago, but then realized I’d never be able to hack into your account - like we had hers. And you knew we were following after you.”

Sherlock nodded, “Oh yes. I agree,” Sherlock commented with a nod, “Just surprised you actually had the number memorized.”

“Do you know how many of my phones you’ve ruined Sherlock? I could still call Mary if I had to.”

“She also recorded her own message to her phone box,” Sherlock whispered, “I don’t think the two are comparable.”

John frowned, but he conceded the point, “Molly, then. I could still call up Molly as well if I had to.”

“You know he’s waiting at the end of the street to pick us up now right?”

John shuffled about, “I had guessed.”

“We can’t explain this to him.”

“Sherlock. I know you don’t think well of him at this point in both of your lives-”

“Understatement.”

“I don’t think we have the reason to mistrust him, Sherlock. Even if he’s younger. He’s been carrying a lot. For a very long time.”

Sherlock frowned, “Well then, Dr. Holmes,” He said dryly, “I’ll have to be the one taking your word for it.”

John smiled, like he had in any of near million of times he’d stared death down at Sherlock’s side, “I’m not taking your last name.”

Sherlock shrugged before turning down and leading them towards whatever mystery was waiting down the road for them, “Seemed fitting to me since you’re family with or without the band.”

John snorted, “Better family then Harry anyways.”

Sherlock smiled at that. John couldn’t see it, “You could always change it and then we could just tell everyone that we’re brother by choice rather then blood.”

John laughed again, “Yeah. That’s not normally how marriages work.”

Sherlock joined in the laughter at that. The point had been made. Last time they’d spent enough time telling people it wasn’t like that - and that had been without the wedding bands, “We’ll have to get wedding bands.”

“I was going to hold up the one that I already had. It’s going to take a while to get use to all of the changes isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Sherlock mumbled as Mycroft slide out of his car, “At least we don’t have to handle them head on and alone.”

“Mycroft,” John said, “Pleasure to see you again.”

“Indeed, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft answered without a hint of amusement, “We’re also very, very lucky that Sherlock provided you with my number, aren’t we, brother dear?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered with a vulnerability that this Mycroft would never have seen from his brother. It nearly caused him to step backwards, to regain his balance. John looked away from the surprise. It was a painful reminder to them both, “Yes. Mycroft, we are.”

“So,” Mycroft gritted his teeth, “You’re saying that you did give my number out?”

“We’re engaged. We don’t have the rings yet, but we were going to call.”

Mycroft looked at the car, “Get in. The both of you.” 

Sherlock nodded. He felt years older then he looked. He felt like himself. His joints not yet abused from his years of torture trying to bring down Moriarty. He looked at John. John nodded, and they both climbed in.

Mycroft slide in behind them.

“You were going to kidnap again, weren’t you?” John asked.

Mycroft didn’t answer, and that was answer enough to the doctor who rolled his eyes at that.

Sherlock snorted, “Told you.”

“And just what did you tell him?”

“That you weren’t safe.”

“You think he’s your arch enemy,” John snipped, “Like people even have those!”

“I do!” Sherlock answered, with equal amounts of appaull and surprise in his eyes.

John let out a small scoff of a laugh, “Really? Is that  _ still _ the term we’re using then?”

Mycroft stared at them, or well the side of Sherlock’s head, “What the hell is he going on about?”

“Language, Mycroft! But - Yes,” Sherlock answered turning to John, “What else would you call them?”

“Depends on who we’re talking about!” John answered. He glanced at the driver, and Sherlock glanced at Mycroft before pointedly glancing at the driver. Mycroft frowned. He didn’t like not having all of the cards in his hands. Sherlock turned back to John with that subtle shake. John tapped Sherlock, “Firstly then - I’d call you your own worst enemy.”

Sherlock’s surprise and confusion were quickly replaced by a cozy humor that could only be gained by familitary of hard earn topics, “Really? I mean, yes, I can see your argument, but I’ve never had to be arrested-”

“Drugs bust,” John helpfully piped up.

“Not within recent memory,” Sherlock admitted. He tapped John.

“Fine then. I’ll take it, and you know who I what I’d call them then? Your  _ family _ . Because you know who's always gotten you into the worst troubles-”

John was cut off by Sherlock putting his arm around John’s shoulders. The man had to struggle to accommodate it with the tight fit of the backseat. John sighed, “Hyphenated.”

Sherlock laughed, “Goes both ways then that.”

Mycroft stared at his umbrella with the hopes that it wouldn’t jump from his hands to fly off like it had seemed the rest of his reality had, “Rather then the office,” He piped up towards Anthea, “I think we’ll go back to the estate.” 

She nodded from behind the steering wheel and the rest of the road was silent. Until John started to fiddle with his hair.

“It won’t grow no matter how much you fiddle with it.”

“Bloody - Yes, Sherlock. I know that. Doesn’t make it any more comfortable. Not my fault you’ve never changed your look.”

* * *

 

John was tempted to just walk back into London proper once they’d climbed out of the government car. He didn’t, but for all of his trust in Mycroft that would change this to being an easy thing to talk about.

“So,” Mycroft asked as he ushered them through the door - it was odd being ushered in. Last time he’d been to his Holme’s estate he’d broken in giggling with Sherlock.

_ This is not something to giggle about. _

_ Mycroft has lied to me - for perhaps my entire life. I have a maybe sister who shot you, and - Yes I am laughing because this is never going to happen again. I am being childish about this, but by god, is Mycroft going to know absolutely how ridiculous this is. How do I not remember that I have a sister, John? _

_ We hired a clown, Sherlock. If your giggling botches up hacking in through his security codes. _

_ You know the password, John. _

_ Don’t tell me it’s 1234 _

  1. _You were close. No one would suspect it from Mycroft._



_ Cheeky Bastard. _

“Doctor?” Mycroft piped up breaking John’s gaze from where he’d been the last time. He looked at Sherlock who’s gaze was still lingering over the same spot he’d been staring at, “Are you coming in?”

“Eurus,” John said, “Sherlock doesn’t trust you, but he’s worried. She’s still alive right? She hasn’t done anything drastic has she?”

“Get inside,” Mycroft snapped.

John nodded, and he looked at Sherlock. The concern was still there. They slipped in without a squabble.

“Just how do you-?”

“Time travel,” Sherlock answered.

Mycroft wavered, “No.”

“I just met Sherlock yesterday,” John answered.

“Eliminate the impossible…” Sherlock mumbled.

“And whatever left.” Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Then how? Why?”

“Eurus,” John answered.

“She thought it would be a good present,” Sherlock amended.

Mycroft stared at them, “Of course she would. When?”

“Doesn’t matter-”

“2017,” John interrupted. The man staggered at that and John kept a close eye on him, “And no, we don’t know who won the US presidential election.”

“Trump clearly - The South has too many electoral votes,” Sherlock moaned, “Perhaps that’s what Eurus’s real gift was. Keeping us from that for as long as possible.”

“Hardy har har.” John let out slowly. Mycroft was letting out shuddering breaths, “I can draw up a map of Sherrinford if you’d rather that for proof,” He said slowly, softly.

Mycroft recovered. John found that a bit reassuring, “No need, Doctor-”

“John, please,” John whispered, “I know we really know each other anymore but it’s getting too weird now.”

Mycroft nodded, but his gaze drifted Sherlock, “I suppose if it’s been eight years you’re now the eldst.”

“God no,” Sherlock smiled, “We’ll keep to the birth certificates for that I think. At least for as long as you’ll let us.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means he thinks you’re a cold hearted bastard that would try to figure out how to implement time travel through the use of evasive research.”

Mycroft stared at John for a moment before frowning, “Yes. He would think that of me, wouldn’t he?” John nodded. “And you don’t - John?”

“You lied to your parents about Eurus, but you get her a Christmas present every year. Perhaps you see something of you in her, or something of Sherlock,” He shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.”

“That is why you think I’ll be kind?”

“Never said kind,” John scoffed, “Just said you wouldn’t lock us up in a lab or do anything of the like that would put us at risk of that. I’ve heard you talk to people, Mycroft. Actual ordinary human people. I would never - I would almost never call you kind.”

“An odd amendment.”

“Well,” John cleared his throat, “I would consider it a necessary one. I’ve seen the lengths you’ll go to keep Sherlock safe. And so has he.” He pointedly looked at the unraveling Holmes, “He just thought you grew into it.”

Sherlock looked away, “And I have yet to see proof about being wrong about that, John.”

John stared at Sherlock, but Mycroft cleared his throat, “Then taking being at my house and not my office for this conversation as answer enough on that matter. I’m getting myself a drink. Sherlock - I’m not letting you near anything with a drug in it. What do you want John?”

He smiled, “Something stiff and neat.”

Mycroft nodded, “Shouldn’t have expected anything different. I’ll let the two of you find your way to the sitting room. I’m sure you still remember where it is, Sherlock.”

John nodded, “That he does,” He patted Sherlock on the shoulder, “Come one then.”

“That,” Sherlock whispered on their way away from Mycroft, “Went surprisingly well.”

“Surprising for one of us,” John amended, “I told you so after all.”

“No one likes a smartass, John,” Sherlock chidded with a smile and a light in his eyes that thrilled John to see.

He hadn’t seen it often in his friend’s eyes - not since Mary or Sherrinford. He hadn’t really seen Sherlock, “Well, we still keep you around anyways don’t we, Sherlock?”

They didn’t sit in the sitting room. They stood, and they paced. John checked the windows, “I thought you trusted him.”

“As you pointed out in the car, there are more players on the board then him.”

Sherlock nodded, “Moriarty was interested.”

“Yeah.”

“But that’s because I was gumming up his operations.”

John nodded, “Do you remember, on that first night? You said  _ Mycroft  _ would be the most dangerous man I’d ever met.”

Sherlock smiled, “Was in a way.”

John chuckled, “Suppose so.”

Mycroft stood in the doorway. “Just going to stand there?” He asked with a frown. He held out a glass to John, “So. Tell me - Who have you two gotten to become over the years then? And how do you know about Eurus?”

John glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock stared back, and he clenched his teeth, “We can’t tell you details.”

Mycroft nodded as he took a drink, “Please don’t. I would rather not be last Holmes breaking the structure of the space time continuum. But, is it really too much to ask to after my brother and the man he’s decided to marry?”

Sherlock glanced at John who simply shrugged. They found seats beside Mycroft, on the couch next to his chair. They didn’t sit close. They didn’t hold hands. John wrapped them around his drink, “Within the last year, John became a widower,” Sherlock started, “It’s not like that. What and why we’ve decided to get married.”

Mycroft nodded, “Never would have expected something so mundane from you.”

John smirked at that, but Sherlock nearly frowned at that, “It was hardly mundane watching the two of them.”

“She was retired CIA,” John whispered, “I bet that helped with that.”

Mycroft stared at John, “After living with my brother for years you married an American spy?”

John smiled, but he simply finished his drink, throwing it back in one shot, “Seemed like a good idea at the time. And it was.”

“I was named godfather for their child,” Sherlock continued, “And it’s been a long year for everyone since her death.”

“That’s why you’re getting married?” Mycroft asked carefully, “So she’ll avoid you two?”

John shook his head, “She adored Sherlock. Just want to put more distance - although it’s also just very simply not that simple I suppose.”

Sherlock nodded, “Eurus. She…” He took a deep breath as he thought carefully about how he’d continue, “Got out. Simplest way of putting it. I - I know about Victor. I remember. It was not easy what she did to us. But she managed and everyone was healing.”

“And then she gave you your present,” Mycroft volunteer after his younger brother’s faltering words. Sherlock nodded.

“Half a year later. Yes.”

John stared into his cup for a moment before he looked up at Mycroft, “You’ll see plenty of us I’m sure over the next few months.”

Mycroft’s smile was tighten and it looked ready to crack, “I suppose. What with you’re plans for a wedding.”

“It’s not going to be a proper affair,” John moaned, “I mean, we’re just doing it.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “John’s still going to go out and fuck women. The point is that they know he isn’t for keeps.”

“Oh,” Mycroft managed.

“Won’t put off Mary,” John grumbled, “Maybe.”

“I’ve never understood what Sherlock has decided to do, but I find it reassuring that there will be no ceremony.”

Sherlock leaned back into the couch, “Of course, we haven’t really talked about it- Ow.”

John would have whistled, but he didn’t. He did look rather innocent all the same, and not like someone that had just kicked their friend.

Mycroft nodded, and he slowly rose, “It’s late, and you two have been through a lot. We’re also a fair ways from town. I have plenty of guest rooms. Feel free to use them,” He said with a wave, “I’m going to sleep however. Goodnight.”

“Night, Mycroft,” John asked.

“Brother,” Sherlock piped up. Mycroft stopped and he turned to look at Sherlock. Sherlock opened his mouth, but then he closed it again after a moment before trying again, “I’m sorry. I know. It’s not going to be the same going forward - not for you anyways - and for that I am sorry.”

Mycroft looked to John, “Eight years?” He asked.

John nodded, and he smirked, “Eight years.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked at John before turning back to Mycroft who simply had his eyes closed now, “Good night, Sherlock.” He said simply.

“Good night, Mycroft. Sleep well.”

* * *

 

John was standing in the doorway of Sherlock’s room with his arm crossed, “You know I felt rather silly explaining our decision tonight to Mycroft.”

He watched as Sherlock looked up from his spot on a bed as he took off his shoes, “Is that so?” He asked.

“It still feels right,” John amended, “Telling the world that I’m stuck with you no matter what. I mean, I’m a rubbish father aren’t I? I couldn’t even think of Rosie before jumping back in time to pull your hind out of the fire.” Sherlock stilled, “Not a single thought of reconsideration for the life of my daughter,” John whispered, “It felt ridiculous worrying about Mary. That Mary would be interested, that I might still have a chance of a future with her in it that is. That’s what felt silly.”

“John?”

John rubbed at his eyes, “Normal. That’s what I was suppose to have.”

“Normal is boring,” Sherlock whispered, “Dreadful stuff that.” He couldn’t keep his voice from breaking.

John smiled, “Eight years,” He said, “Although I suppose we’ve only known each other for six of those, haven’t we?”

“Do you want to sleep on this bed?” Sherlock asked before he’d realized it. John paled, “Not like that,” Sherlock huffed, “Engaged though - and you seem to be stalling. It seemed like - like a danger night for you that way. I just figured I’d offer it.”

John nodded, “Yeah. I- I might take you up on that. My sleep is the first thing that gets shot. Though I might just take the floor instead.”

Sherlock nodded, “You’re a grown man. You can decide where you want to sleep. Just know you don’t have to be alone tonight unless you want that.”

John nodded, “I - Thank you, Sherlock. I appreciate that.” Sherlock simply nodded. Neither said a thing as they slipped off their shoes and socks. Sherlock slept under the sheets on the bed. It was a king sized bed. There was plenty of space to it. Sherlock still took to the edge of it, and after a moment of staring at the floor John decided to take the other edge.

“You’re pinning me down,” Sherlock voiced, “As much as I appreciate that you’re not hurting your shoulder by taking the floor, I don’t think I’ll appreciate being unable to move any more then you would.”

John grunted, and the sheets loosened up. Sherlock looked over. John had simply cleared the sheets off to the side so Sherlock would have them all. Sherlock smiled at that, rolled his eyes, but he said nothing because there was nothing to say.


	2. A Study in Cause and Effect - Or a Decision in How to React to it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter then the last one, and I'd say to expect them to be more of this bite sized sort going forward. I don't normally pump out 60 pages of Times New Roman Double space in three days. 
> 
> Just twenty or so apparently.
> 
> And I have no steady beta or time to edit so I apologize in advance for all the typos I'm sure you'll find below.

The first thing John noticed when he woke up was the hunger. He was hungry when he woke up after not getting dinner after their case. The spaghetti had been abandoned half way through the meal of course. Same as the first time.

He was off the bed, barefoot and staring at Mycroft in the man’s kitchen before he’d thought much of it. Mycroft stared at him with a piece of toast in hand, but not in mouth.

John simply raised an eyebrow at him, “Yes, Mycroft,” He snapped, “Of course I’m get to get some ruddy breakfast. Last night-” Last night - The time travel. This Mycroft had every right to be surprised that he’d found his kitchen with the Sandman’s gift still in his eyes, “Sorry,” He grumbled, “This is a bit awkward now that I’m parsing everything back together from yesterday.”

Mycroft smirked, and then nodded, “Find some breakfast, Doctor-”

“John.”

“There’s plenty of food, and I don’t suppose Sherlock will have any waiting in his flat waiting for you. I would be a very poor host if I did not-”

John held up a hand, “Considering I only know where the kitchen is because we broke into your house - there is no need to worry about being a good host,” John commented before padding along to the fridge, “I will, however, hold you to the offer of food since you kept me and Sherlock from going out and finished our dinner after the case last night.”

Mycroft watched. John didn’t mind. He was new, and he couldn’t seem to keep from talking about the times that now would never be, “I’m thinking about writing,” John commented, just to break the still air of Mycroft’s unmoving eyes away from him, “About what had been. But, I’d kept a blog in - well, what might as well have been my last life, I suppose. I think, it got us into a fair bit more trouble than we originally suspected however…”

Mycroft smiled tightly, “I’m afraid I’m missing some of the cards requisite for following your comments, Doctor.”

John sighed, “Me and Sherlock, we’re going to have to review what had happened to us so we can try and figure out what Eurus did and way - to the best that we can anyways,” He quickly amended, “There are simply some things that had be best not repeated.”

“Like your wife’s death?” Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow. John didn’t need him to expand on that comment to know what he was trying to imply with that single question. There are things that we can not change.

“Sherlock’s,” John amended softly. Mycroft quickly put his tea back down on the table. And John leaned back on the counter. He nodded, “We didn’t leave - travel back in time that is - at the same time.”

“Sherlock came back first, didn’t he?” If John hadn’t seen the man at Sherrinford - shaken and perhaps a bit shattered - he would have been alarmed by the impossibility of such happening in front of him. However, he had. So, John simply nodded. Mycroft nodded, “I’ll see to it that you’re provided with a secure device for your work.”

John smiled, slightly, very slightly, “Thank you, Mycroft.” 

He nodded, “I worry,” He whispered, “Constantly.” He cleared his throat and he sighed, “It’s the least I can do I suppose. Must have done something drastic if Eurus got involved in your lives. There’s a reason she’s in Sherrinford after all. She’s hardly a safe one.”

“I texted her. Before we went there. She flirted with me. I flirted back.”

John took his simple statement as a success at breaking Mycroft as the man stared at him with a mouth that for a moment might have caught a teeny, tiny baby fly if it had happened to have flown by. Eventually, he sputtered back to life, “You are an impossible man, Doctor John Watson. Sherlock is lucky to have you.”

John nodded, “That he is. Glad we both agree on that.”

Mycroft smirked at that, and John matched for a moment before turning around and going back to preparing the closet thing he could to a breakfast. That is after all the best he could do apparently Mycroft didn’t keep food on hand so much as had a loaf of bread and tea in the house. John glanced back at Mycroft, “Order in much?”

Mycroft nodded his attention finally drifting to the newspaper that John had over looked earlier. “Not the best way to lose weight that,” John commented as he put his own few slices in the toaster. Mycroft frowned at that, but he didn’t look up from the newspaper, “Surprised you waste time to read the paper,” John continued, “What with you being the British government and all.”

“I do have a morning routine,” Mycroft clipped, “And habits are embarrassingly old ones.”

“There’s another reason,” John replied as he turned back towards Mycroft. He folded his arms as he leaned back on the counter once more, “There’s got to be another reason.”

Mycroft glanced up and frowned at John, “And what do you suppose that would be?”

John shrugged, “You’re the Holmes in the room.”

“Am I really the only one?” He asked, “Or have you forgotten that you’re engaged to my brother? And, really, it’s only the intent behind a wedding a vow or marriage commitment that matters. After all - You’ll have to wait a few months before you publicly announce it, and I hardly doubt that will have much effect on how the two of you relate to each other however. So tell me,  _ brother dear _ , what other reason could I have for reading the morning paper.”

John rolled his eyes, “You’re a prick,” He said. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose, “The entertainment. You read it for the entertainment of it, don’t you?”

Mycroft smiled, “Very good, John. There’s hope in growing the family yet.”

Sherlock woke up to a quiet room. A miracle considering John’s snoring. He rolled over and saw the reason. John was already up. He hadn’t eaten last night. Sherlock nodded at the thought. It made sense. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

It was the beginning. He found himself laughing. It was the beginning before everything he’d mucked up, and yet, everything that had happened between the two of them was still there.

He was grateful John was downstairs. John would have worried about his laughter and the manic edge that it might have taken on. He ran his hand down his face, and he sighed. 

Sherlock stared at the ceiling for a moment before pushing the sheets to the side and sliding out off the bed to join Mycroft and John downstairs in the kitchen where John was doubtlessly trying to make a breakfast that would fill him out of thin air. A miracle that Mycroft could not have set up the prep for.

It was time for them to go back home to 221b Bakers St.

* * *

 

Mycroft wasn’t reading the newspaper today because he found it entertaining, although he no longer doubted that John had in fact known him rather well after all because on any other day it would have been. He still wasn’t sure what to think of their story after all - Eurus having the genius to find the way to do exactly what they’d claimed to have had happened? Absolutely bought that. How she’d used it? Sherlock had had a point about it fitting as an explanation of their odd behavior - but so would a theory about the application of multidimensional jumping. And that had seemed to be a matter of which they hadn't considered as well.

No. Mycroft was reading the paper to ensure that he could still read. The universe wasn’t making sense after all, and he felt cause to reaffirm the basic facts of it in the delusion of his early morning rising.

And the date.

It had arrived at the house anyways.

Now why he had had the paper delivered to the house? Anthea had had a very dry sense of humor when she’d wanted to, and a cousin had informed her of the American’s using Boss’s Day as such an opportunity for their expression of such wit to the one’s that signed their paychecks. That was why he had The Sun of all papers laying out before him. When John had made a comment on it, he’d been glad of the hands free positioning of it.

However, now that he was at the last page of it, and John was sitting across from him - “Dull,” Sherlock moaned from the doorway, “Family breakfast isn’t what I had in mind when I’d proposed to you, John.”

“As Mycroft pointed out just a moment ago - Can’t really go waving that fact around for another couple of months,” John responded, unfazed by the rest of the statement. _Trust issues._ That was what Mycroft had read up on the good doctor in front of him. _And yet, in nearly a decade of time - he’s done more then trust Sherlock Holmes of all people._

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, and just as he’d known the night before hand, he found himself looking at someone that was close to the brother he’d watched over but was definitely different, even if he couldn’t find the answers for the weight on Sherlock’s shoulders or for the sanded, round edges that now surrounded his brother’s words. They didn’t cut, even when he screamed about the mundanity of a family breakfast.

“Would hardly call toast a proper way to break fast, John,” Sherlock moaned, before sweeping his way into the seat beside his fiance. He picked up one of the pieces in front of John and stared at it, “Really? This is what you wanted to start your day off with?”

“You can leave if you want more then that,” Mycroft cut off with a frown. Sherlock met that with a smile. Baited. Mycroft’s frown deepened, but Sherlock wasn’t looking at him to see it. John was, but clearly he was use to their bickering, their antics.

“Did you hear that, John?” Sherlock asked, “Brother dear here wants us to leave.”

“And I bet that’s what you want as well,” John answered with a frown that nearly shamed the one Mycroft sported. John rolled his eyes, “You two could just say goodbye-”

“Dull!”

John sighed, and he picked up the plate he’d used, “I’ll be cleaning up after myself then we’ll leave.” Sherlock nodded.

John puttered off, and Sherlock cleared his throat. Mycroft turned his full attention to Sherlock, “I only know what you told me about what later ended up happening with Eurus. Can you tell me again?”

“To see if there are any inconsistencies?” Mycroft supplied.

Sherlock nodded, “To see if anything else has been changed.”

“How do you know it was time travel?” He asked.

Sherlock stilled, “I don’t remember. Not the details of it anyways. John however does not have that same problem, and we’re working with working with the theory that our time travel is due to brain pattern transference into the past. Which - John - Would that explain why I don’t remember… Leaving as it were?”

The doctor shrugged, “It could - a bit of the transference could have been cut off at the end I suppose. And my concussion could explain why I remember then I suppose. A bit jumbled, and with it being inserted directly on top of my old one?” He turned to look at Sherlock. His sleeves were rolled up and water dripped from his hand, “My bull through an antique shop’s approach could explain the difference in experience as well?”

Mycroft stared at John, “What do you mean bull through an antique shop? What on earth did you do?”

John sniffled and looked away, “Broke into Sherrinford. Eurus agreed to let me use the device to save Sherlock, and you - well past- future- other you - did not approve me going ramshod back into the past to muddle up time. Despite my insistence that it already been done. Had to fight off some guards. Not as young as I use to be...”

Mycroft nodded at that, “That seems like reason enough, but what convinces the two of you further that it is in fact time travel?”

Sherlock stared at Mycroft, “Do I look like I’m a decade older?”

Mycroft had to concede that, “Just making sure you’re thinking all the options through.”

“I would not have thought you the interdimensional sort - yes, I’ve thought through all the options.”

“Good,” John piped up from the sink, now pulling his plate out and grabbing a towel, “Because I hadn’t even considered that fact. Which is reassuring since we both _abandoned my daughter_.”

Sherlock winced at that, “I mean, we didn’t abandon her,” Sherlock ventured further, “After all, we don’t even know if she’ll still be born. It seems more like-” Sherlock looked at John at that point, and he knew better then to continue. John was still a crack shot, and punch. Sherlock had once learned that John still had a strong right hook despite the long absence of practical training for that. He did not wish to confirm that that was still the case.

“Thank you,” John answered tightly before putting up the plate where he’d found it.

“Eurus?” Sherlock prompted.

“She’s in Sherrinford. John mentioned that I get her presents - once a year for Christmas. She works for the government and they are her _treats_ as it were for doing such. Not much else to speak of I’m afraid, brother dear.”

“Uncle Trudy and the lie to our parents?” Mycroft nodded. Sherlock took in a deep breath as he filed that information away. Only he and John had changed from the sound of it. He’d hack into Mycroft’s files to confirm it, but it didn’t sound as if anything major had - “What sort of presents have you given her so far?”

“Stradivarius,” Mycroft answered, “Stuff like that.”

“Any nurses?” John asked with a furrowed brow.

Mycroft paled, “No. No. That was a physical - we keep her restrained now. I over see those personally. It’s only happened the once.”

John nodded, “Reassuring that.”

Mycroft bristled for just a moment, but then he relaxed, “No visitors?” Sherlock tempted.

Mycroft shook his head, “Hasn’t requested any.”

Sherlock rose at that, “That’s enough to be going on,” He said before throwing a glance at John.

“Laptop will be in the mail?”

Mycroft nodded, “May venture sending it over a carrier however.” He watched his brother’s reaction, but Sherlock simply nodded at that.

“Well,” Sherlock stated as if he’d known all along that John was going to request what he did, and maybe he did Mycroft conceded, “Our business here is done then. John?”

John nodded, “Lead the way, dear.”

Sherlock closed his eyes as he started his venture out, “I knew that joke was going to bite me in the back.”

John chuckled.

“What joke?” Mycroft asked. His curiosity beat out his rationality.

“The marriage,” John answered as he followed Sherlock out, “It was a joke when he proposed.”

Mycroft simply stared at the backs of the duo as the door closed behind them.

“Mycroft drove us here,” He could hear John mention through the door.

“We’ll call a cabbie,” Sherlock answered.

He barely heard John’s moan as the distance grew. He took quick steps to listen through the crack in the door.

“Or we’ll hot wire a car,” Sherlock was quick to amend.

Mycroft glanced at the The Sun that was still laying open on his table. He had thought that to be the worst surprise he’d have this year. It would seem that he could be wrong after all. He quickly strolled over to the magazine and chucked it into the bin. At least he couldn’t be wrong about that again-

_Eurus agreed to let me use the device to save Sherlock, and you - well past- future- other you - did not approve me going ramshod back into the past to muddle up time. Despite my insistence that it already been done._

There would be only matter that Mycroft would draw a line in the sand about in meddling with time about - death. He sat down with weak knees and without a chance of elegance in doing so.

 _Sherlock had died._ He buried his face in his hands before pulling out his cell. There were two numbers on speed dial - Sherlock’s and his office. He called his office.

“Sir?”

“I need a secure device - blank but absolutely secure - and I need it sent over 221b Baker’s Street immediately. I want a carrier with it. They’re not to leave that flat until the blank device is handed over to either Sherlock Holmes or Doctor John Watson.”

He hung up then as he heard confirmation from the other end of the line, and he resisted the impulse to call Sherrinford.

If something happened there, _he would be notified._

* * *

 

John and Sherlock stood beside one of Mycroft’s cars. More accurately, John stood with his arms folded, and Sherlock was prying a tool that John refused to learn the name off down into the door of Mycroft’s car, “So,” John said simply, “This is what we’ve come to.”

“The cab said it would be a twenty minute wait,” Sherlock answered as if that was reason enough, and John knew for Sherlock that would be.

His promise to letting John drive it? Now, that was reason enough for both of them.

There was a faint click, and Sherlock opened the driver’s door for John, “My dear.”

John rolled his eyes, “I just realized that we’ve already told Sally.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Might as well stop by the jewellers then to pick up the rings.”

John nodded as he started the car and waited for Sherlock to round the car to get in, “There’s no way she hasn’t told every one at the station that the Freak’s found someone to wed him.”

Sherlock smiled visiously, “Hold hands at the next crime scene she’s at?”

John snorted, “Not a chance.” Sherlock smirked and he watched John’s expression crack as he pulled the car out of the estate. He glanced at Sherlock, “Maybe for a little bit?” He ventured.

The glimmer he saw in Sherlock’s eyes - that visicous joy - wasn’t something that he’d seen in a while. It was worth it.

They were healing, John realized as his attention drifted back to the road in front of him. He hadn’t realized that there was so much to heal between them - both indiviually and together. John sighed.

“John?”

“Just thinking,” John answered. He glanced at Sherlock and saw a guilty pang to his face, “What do you think I’m thinking about?”

“How we’re flatmates again.” Sherlock answered, “I mean, you’ve been back to Baker’s St. for a few months now, but - It’s not like that now. I think, you’re thinking that it will be like it was. Before I faked my death.”

John nodded, “I was thinking something like that,” He admitted, “But I was also thinking that perhaps it good this way.”

“I don’t see what you mean.”

“It’s not like we’re changing the things that happened to us,” He said weakly, as he searched out carefully for where he was trying to guide the both of them with this conversation, “We’re the same people. We’re just able to keep everyone else from getting hurt as well. That’s what I mean. We’re not…”

“Changing things and pretending that they’d never happened….”

“Do you think that’s why you - what do you think would have happened if I hadn’t come back for you?”

John could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him, and they sat in silence. John didn’t think Sherlock would answer him.

“I think I would have stumbled with the distraction of knowing you’d punch me all over again. I was trying not to change you - if I couldn’t chase out of 221b anyways,” John glanced and saw a tiny pained wing of a smile on Sherlock’s face at that admission, “And I think. It would have become a real sucide out of accident. Caring - It would have been a weakness then. Since I…”

“Couldn’t keep caring?” John answered.

“Not and keep you finding Mary the same,” Sherlock eventually amended, “I would have chosen you over Eurus since we know now that that was her game. One that she made up with Moriatry.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted Mary at the cost of you.”

“I know,” Sherlock answered simply.

The rest of the drive was in silence as the two Baker’s St Boys found themselves lost in their thoughts.

* * *

 

Sherlock noticed the other car parked in front of their flat, but he thought nothing of it. He didn’t have a reason to. One of his neighbor’s had a guest. That’s all it meant.

John opened the door, and there was a laugh in the air. John stopped. Sherlock frowned, but then he realized it wasn’t a laugh that he was suppose to be use to hearing. Not yet or after all they’d been through.

Its presence in his life had been cut short by a bullet.

Sherlock stared at the back of John’s head before the man took a quiet step in. Mrs. Hudon’s voice carried down the stairs.

“They’re upstairs,” Sherlock whispered, “You can leave if you want.”

John nodded, and he turned back towards the door. He even managed a step before he froze. He looked at Sherlock. Sherlock’s heart broke because he’d long since gave up the notion that he didn’t have one of those.

John looked lost, and he was looking at Sherlock for an answer. He didn’t know what John was asking of him. John nodded, short and curtly, “Not today,” He whispered.

And then he left. Sherlock watched him leave, looking just as confused and lost as his friend. He looked up at the stairs, now alone to face a ghost of his past. His hand went to his stomach. There wasn’t a scar there now, but he could still feel the phantom of pain. He could still hear her, falling to the ground in front of him. Her gasp. Her final words.

_Did I ever say?_

He’d been so careless. He’d wound her up, the old lady he couldn’t even remember the name of. She hadn’t mattered. He was the one that killed Mary. Him and his carelessness.

He didn’t fault John for leaving, but he barely found it any easier to start his climb up the stairs towards her. It was like meting John at the flat yesterday. Wrong in so many different ways.

He heard a cough behind him, “She’s shot both of us,” John whispered, “In her own ways. Least we can do is met her together. Her Baker St. Boys that is.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, and he steadied his breath. Then they climbed the stairs together.

* * *

 

She was CIA. She was still CIA even if she didn’t know for how much longer she’d keep the position. Mole is what she currently was for the CIA - a mole in MI6. Cover story was as a temporary loaner agent to MI6 and she was attached to an office of minor importance, that of one Mycroft Holmes. It was a vacation really after her last wet job for the Agency.

Today, She had been given a suitcase, clearly heavy enough to contain only a laptop, and instructions to bring it to 221b Bakers St and to only leave it with one Sherlock Holmes - presumably family, brother - or one Doctor John Watson, an asset she had yet to hear about.

She was hoping to met the doctor. She’d heard more then enough rumors about Sherlock Holmes to fill a rather complete picture of him for her report. She was intrigued by Sherlock Holmes. All the stories of him had left her maybe a little bit besotted. Now, she’d never go for that sort of a man - rude, that is - but she liked him. Adventure seemed to be his middle name, and she was in the line of work that she was for a reason.

A junkie she was after all. An adrenaline junkie, and he seemed to be quite the provider of such. If she’d ever set down, and with how south her career of choice could go she didn’t have that off her books, she’d want to settle down around him.

Doctor John Watson, however, had never come up before, but clearly he was a peer for Mr. Holmes the younger and perhaps for the elder brother considering who was sending her.

She stood in their flat, and she chatted up the landlady. Mrs. Hudson was a dear, eager to speak like all old ladies seem. Sherlock was exactly like she’d heard. Doctor Watson, however, was a surprise. Mrs. Hudson had simply smirked, “I’m surprised you know about him! Just moved into the room upstairs a few days ago. Seems like a good boy, but I really do know next to nothing about him - Sherlock told me he worked as surgeon doctor in the war though. I believe he was a captain or something like that before he was medically discharged? Shot in the shoulder, terrible thing. Left him with a limp though. It was odd seeing him with a cane when we first met. He’s very polite. But, yes, barely know him.”

Rosie would have disagreed. A disabled vet, a surgeon in a warzone, had taken up sharing a flat with the world’s only consulting detective.

Really, she’d almost wished she was trying to settle down and trying to leave her old life behind. She hadn’t known people like the good doctor had actually existed. Although perhaps it was because of a matching temperament and more keen sense of social propriety that kept Mrs. Hudson speaking well of him from the brief time they’d spent together.

“Mrs. Hudson,” A deep baritone spoke up from the doorway. Rosie turned to look and saw a tall man with a brown mop on the top of his head. It was Sherlock Holmes. There was an arm, and a sliver of a face, standing in the shadow behind him. She couldn’t see him, but she felt safe in presuming the blond was the doctor that had been mentioned. Sherlock had his eyes trained on Mrs. Hudson, “Who is this?”

Curt and to the point. Exactly as described. She smiled at him. He didn’t look at her. Rude. Also as described. She still liked him.

“She’s a guest, dear!” Mrs. Hudson huffed, “Although,” Her hand reached out and held Rosie’s arm, “You did mentioned that you were here on the behalf of one of Sherlock’s clients, didn’t you, dear?”

Rosie smiled, “Yes, ma’am.” She held the case out to Sherlock, “He said it was of the utmost prioity that I see that this gets to you or Dr. Watson.”

Sherlock stared at the case, but he did take it, “I see,” He looked at her, and there was a glimmer in his eyes as he smirked, “So working for my brother then?”

“Temporaily,” She answered with a tight smile. There was nothing that gave her away. She wouldn’t have her life if she didn’t blend in. He didn’t know the truth, but she would have bet that that was what his eyes were saying, “I doubt you’ll see me again.”

“Shame,” The doctor behind Sherlock mumbled before shuffling in through the other door. His eyes flickered over her, “Wouldn’t happen to have a name would you?” His eyes were on hers, and her heart fluttered. The pale blue color swallowed her whole, and the expression that framed them - he was flirting with. He was happy, not eager, to flirt with her.

She smiled, because she would never blush, swallow or give herself away in any manner, “Not today I’m afraid,” She answered. Her fluttered her gaze away, returning the favor of interest and providing an escapee from his gaze that peered so deep, too deeply, into her, “Just a nameless drone for a man who maintains a minor position within the British Government.”

Sherlock snorted. She looked back at John, and she saw that soft smile, “Still,” He glanced away with a blush of his own, “Wouldn’t suppose you get any time off then - from being a nameless drone that is?”

She smiled, “Mary,” She answered. She lied. He looked at her eagerly, and she regretted it, “Although I don’t have time to use it much now…?”

“Dr. Watson.” He provided, “Or John.”

She nodded, and then she nodded at the case in Sherlock’s hands, “Mycroft wanted me to deliver that, and I’m sure he won’t be pleased if I delay any further.” She glanced at John and then she looked at Sherlock, “Have a good day.” She looked again at John. She hated herself for staring at that pale hue that filled his eyes and knowing that she might never be under their gaze again, “It was a pleasure to met the two of you.”

John smiled, and he stepped aside, “If your ever in town, remember that you know this address.” She nodded.

If she was in London again however and needed an address it wouldn’t be with a matter that would lend her to cross their paths again, and as she passed by John he grabbed her elbow as if sensing that was her answer to that. She looked back at his hand on her arm, and then she looked at his face, “Sherlock takes clients. You can come back here for any reason. Any - do you understand, Mary? You can come back here for _any_ _reason at all._ ”

She nodded. She said nothing as he let go, and she slipped away. She heard Mrs. Hudson chidding him, but she did what she said she did. She understood, and she knew that if she ever happened into trouble - the two boys that lived at 221b - for whatever reason it was - would drop everything at a moment’s notice to help her.

And, perhaps, if she was very lucky, she’d be able to find some free time for the good doctor.

* * *

 

John’s eyes watched Mary’s shape recede down the stairs. He heard Mrs. Hudson, but he wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he had her on semi-mute as he watched Mary leave his life again.

At least this time she still had a heart beat.

He really hated his self sometimes.

When she was gone, he turned to Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson was frowning at him, but his eyes were on the case at Sherlock’s side, “Work?” He asked simply, “We have work to be getting onto now, don’t we?”

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock, and she saw something between them if her the furrative follow up glance at John was anything to go by. She sighed and she mumbled. John didn’t watch her leave. Neither did Sherlock.

They heard the door close, and John closed the secondary door behind him.

Sherlock slowly let slip the hint of a smile, “She works for Mycroft.”

John giggled, “Do you think this is before or after A.G.R.A. though?”

“After,” Sherlock answered, “Maybe. Actually - you know what? I have no idea,” He clapped his hands together in that one smooth, definitive clap way that he did. John smirked himself.

“Can’t be right all the time, can you?”

Sherlock laughed and he picked the case up again, “Shall we get to work, Dr. Watson? We do have a case now after all.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“You don’t mean that,” Sherlock retorted as he set the case down on the kitchen table and, with a click, slide out the device that Mycroft had sent them.

“You’re right, love,” John groaned, “I don’t mean that.”

Sherlock was smirking the entire time he set up the device on the table.

* * *

 

_The Maybe Beginning of Our Time Space Conundrum_

_There weren’t many things that I thought could confound me more then waking up in a time that I’d already lived through, laughing at a joke that I’d already laughed at. Sherlock still managed to do exactly that as we went over what we knew about our situation. I had thought it was as simple as what we’d gone over beforehand with Mycroft. There had been no way to keep Sherlock’s elder brother in the dark after all. We’d need him for easy access to Sherrinford, and his constant surveillance meant he’d be quick to spot the inconsistency of - at least - Sherlock’s actions now._

_I am proud of my friend, but he and I are no longer the people that we use to be. I fear to met my sister or any others that use to know me. I do not believe that I would even know where to start for how to go about pretending to be my younger self. Between losing my best friend once. my wife, and being a father, I have been shaped and shaped in such a way that I cannot find the spots that such changes happened to._

_It had started simply as Sherlock waited for the laptop, the device I am now typing on, to start up,“Things are different from what we knew,” Sherlock told me, and he didn’t met me in the eyes. I should have known then. There was nothing interesting about a computer waking up, and Sherlock had never been one to give any sort of attention to such dull things unless it suited his penchant of running away from the crux of a problem, “In part as you that we now know of Eurus and her connection with Moriarty - but last night played out differently, John. I mean, other then with us and all of that - but the cabbie. He did something different. He said something different.”_

_It was when he left the matter hanging in silence that I knew there was something that kept him from face first into a matter of that composed our case. “I’m not a bloody mind reader, Sherlock. Tell me what you’re going on about.” Perhaps I did know some of the matters of me that have changed over the years. During the first year I’d lived with homes I’d have never snapped like that, not in a way that had sounded personally derogatory towards the man anyhow._

_Sherlock smiled however. He looked up then, away from the screen and the nothing that was on it, “He told me that he lied, John. He told me that the hadn’t actually given that choice to everyone. He said his boss wouldn’t have approved of failing to take me out of the picture.” His smile grew, and his teeth grabbed my attention. A shark may have seemingly had less than my friend did at that point, “The game. The game has always been Eurus.”_

_“Even the one with the bombings?” John asked, “You think she’s always been the one toying with you?”_

_Sherlock frowned at that, “Perhaps. Perhaps not. He was going to kill us. Then he got a phone call…”_

_“So it was all just bait then? To show off how cleverer he was then you? Wait-” A tremor made its way through my life as the next thought made its way through my life. The biggest mystery that my old life that had never properly found resolution had always been related to the moment that Sherlock had just brought up, “Do you think Mycroft’s the one that called off Moriarty?”_

_Sherlock frowned at my statement, but I took no offense. I could see his gaze drifting off, “There’s something wrong about that,” He grumbled, “Although, I could see Jim taking that offer. I do not think it properly explains how he reacted to the call. Skinning Mycroft alive?” I watched as my friend steepled his fingers in front of his face, and I knew better then to give voice to any of the millions of questions buzzing through my brain. I watched him, and I could nearly smell the smoke from the whizzing gears in the man’s brilliant mind._

_“Mycroft put us onto Adler’s case afterwards,” Sherlock answered. He closed his eyes and he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he concluded the case._

_“It wouldn’t be the first time he used us to clean up after a mistake he’s made,” I was quick to agree with mumbled tones. I might have been quick, but that didn’t mean I was proud to come to the same conclusion that it had seemed Sherlock had come to._

_Sherlock, however, weakly nodded, “And he’s proven the lengths he’ll go, hasn’t he? To keep his family safe?”_

_Those were damning words, but they were true. At them, Sherlock spun the laptop back to face me, “You enjoy writing. I presume you wanted this to write what we’d been through before.”_

_I nodded, and he sighed, “I’ll see about breakfast then.”_

_That too was a lingering shape of our now never existent future - his willingness to eat while a case loomed over us. Being responsible, and an example, for Rosie had had practical changes. Although, he is still the same, and forever will be, when the case in question is one that has us running about the streets of London. After all, Rosie can not see us there._

_"So," I ventured as he puttered about relearning our kitchen, and rediscovering all the experiments he'd had in the works years before our proper time and place, "Is the plan then just to sit and wait?"_

_He glanced at me, and if it had been for us when it should have been - our first few days together - it would have been paired with comments remarking on my dullness or other such. Instead, it was a soft voice, not a dull shouted, that I received, "We'll find Moriarty. We'll throw the same cork in his gears as we always, unknowingly have, and we'll play that game smarter. Or perhaps we won't play it at all. We don't have to John. I could bring him down now. We both could. It would only take a few years out of the country."_

_I thought then of the old woman. The apartment. I had called him a heartless monster back then when he'd simply settled his heart into the backseat so he could do the work that he could to prevent repeats all under the veneer cover that a child would have used - it was just a game. It didn't matter. Games didn't matter. I had called him heartless back then for doing that._

_I couldn't look away from him then as I answered that unspoken question - Do we risk strangers to find the truth or do we muck about with time for the sake of their safety?_

_"We'll stay," I whispered. He stopped moving. I had been a soldier once. A surgeon in a warzone, I made tough calls back then, and I hadn't expected it the first time around to be requisite to keep that skill set, to expect it. Deciding which resources were spent. On whom they were spent on._

_I realize in hindsight, that perhaps the words I spoke to Sherlock then may haunt me for the rest of my life, but they wouldn't be the first decision of mine to do such. The tools we had what we knew of the future - and we knew better what the causality would be if we played with pips then with a globe and a living crime lord._

_"We'll stay, and we'll play his game. And, we'll make our way back to pool, I think. That way we can know. We can know who we're up properly up against."_

_Sherlock had simply nodded. I had almost expected him to answer with some variation on the 'Yes, sir' because we'd both realized in that moment that we were soldiers once more, and that we would simply have to carry on from here pretending not to know, at times, how to save a life._


End file.
